Delayed Reaction
by WrittenByAnonymous
Summary: In S2.19 "Teach Me Tonight", Jess and Rory's car accident goes a little differently, affecting the entire town of Stars Hollow.
1. Chapter 1

**Teach Me Tonight**

Chapter I

Jess slams into the back of his seat, eyes wide open. He stares at the worn wood of the telephone pole, standing erect. There's a yard sale on Plum Street tomorrow. The flyer floats down onto the crumpled hood, resting onto the blue surface like a leaf on a pond. Delayed reaction there. He tries to inhale and exhale deeply, but there is a strange sensation in his chest, a reverberation in his head. Hoping for some relief in his torso, he unlatches his seat belt, but it doesn't help. A bump is forming beneath his thick black hair, that's for sure.

He turns to look at Rory. Her eyes are squeezed shut. She had probably shut them before the collision, and is too scared to open them.

"Rory?" Jess croaks out, watching as a single tear emerges from the fold of her closed eyes, dodging her long black eyelashes then trailing down her cheek.

"Rory?" He says louder, though it hurt to draw in the breath to fuel repeating her name. "Are you alright?"

She nods slowly, and her voice comes out a quavering murmur, "I'm o-okay. My… my wrist hurts."

"Okay. I'm going to call 911. Just sit still." He slides the phone out of her jacket pocket, presses the three digits with aching fingers. Slipping out the car, he slowly walks to her side. He talks to the operator while he opens the passenger door, tries to remember the street name to tell the woman while he unclicks Rory's seatbelt. Christ, his head hurts. The voice on the phone says help is on the way, and he drops the cellphone into his pocket.

"Rory, can you get out?" He asks as calmly as he can, quietly so as to minimize lifting his chest. She doesn't make a move to exit the crunched vehicle, only cradles her wrist. Jess watches as more tears trickle out of her closed eyes, faster and faster, like gradually increasing the speed on a faucet. Soon she is sobbing, and Jess kneels down next to the open door.

"Hey, hey. You're okay. Everything will be alright." He reaches out a hand to touch her face, wipe away the crystal beads on her cheeks, but decides against it. He's glad her eyes are closed just then.

"I'm just—," she manages to get out through the watery veil, "I was just so scared."

"I know," he whispers, admitting, "I was too."

The fear and anxiety. That must be what is constricting in his chest, making his head hurt. _Unlikely_ , Jess thinks, _but I can buy that for now._ He takes her undamaged hand, and she finally opens her eyes. As she turns to look at him through glassy sapphire orbs, he attempts a smirk and says, "I don't see roadkill, on the bright side."

"Since-since when are… are you the optimistic one?" She stammers out, her mouth lifting a little bit, clutching his hand in return. He helps her out of the car, watching her left wrist with caution. Her legs shake as her feet touch the pavement, and she almost collapses against him. Even her tiny frame leaning on him shoots bolts of pain through his chest.

"Put your arm around me," he instructs softly and she obeys slowly. He scoops her up and carries her to the sidewalk, a good 15 feet away from her car. He doesn't want her to look at it and start yelling at him. God, was he going to get yelled at. By Rory. By her mother. By her boyfriend. By her wannabe step-father. By every single person in this hellish enclave of spite who adores the town princess, so by every citizen of Stars Hollow.

He lets her down to sit on the curb. Would've chosen a bench, but it's a tad destroyed. He settles next to her, on her right side to block her view of Bagboy's gift, and sees her wipe her face with her right sleeve. Where's the fucking ambulance? He told them she's hurt, didn't he? In fact, he's pretty sure he said it twice, then reiterated a third time for good measure.

Rory sniffles next to him, staring at the concrete, and Jess doesn't know what to do but try to make her smile. That's what he always wants to do, but she reserves her special smile for Big-and-Tall. The first thing that escapes is, "Well, golly gee. I wish I knew how to swim."

She looks up with clearer eyes. "What?"

"I'm going to get pushed in the lake. Bet you a quarter." He peers around, looking for the cops, listening for the sirens, but the street is dead.

"Didn't you already get pushed in the lake?" she questions.

He smirks. "Yep."

"But you can't swim?" she asks confused.

"Nope. The bridge is built on a shallow spot, you know. This time, Luke will get me on a boat."

"Quite cathartic?" she recalls from our conversation, and he replies, "So I've heard."

Rory smiles. Objective reached. He wonders if she's thinking about that day too. The bridge. The basket. The wooden planks. The water. The sunlight. He has to hold onto that day, in case there is no next time. _Who am I kidding? Of course there is no next time._ Rory knows it too because the smile fades when she realizes aloud, "Everyone is going to blame you for this. Especially my mother."

Surprisingly, she looks distraught at the idea. Jess tries to catch his breath while thinking of a response, but it's becoming harder and harder on his lungs. His difficulty breathing is probably from trying to look like he isn't having difficulty breathing. Huh. All he can manage is, "Don't worry about it."

"I can't help but worry about it! Everyone is going to hate you!" She leans on his shoulder, and he slips his arm around her back, folding his hand around her slender waist. It's natural this way, isn't it. That's not meant to be a question. He knows it. She knows it. When will one of them just say it?

He rests his chin on her head, distracted from his headache and the pain in his chest by the intoxicating scent of peaches and cinnamon in her hair. Maybe the pie they were snacking on earlier, or maybe it's just Rory. They've never been situated close enough for him to know. He murmurs into her brown locks, "Everyone already hates me, Rory."

She responds immediately, "I don't hate you. So… what are we going to do?"

Jess breathes in her scent in lieu of a painkiller. He hears the sirens, at last, alerting no one to move aside, since every single person in this stupid, godforsaken town was in bed hours ago. He says matter-of-factly, pressing his smile into her head, "I'm going to learn to swim, and you're going to go to the hospital. And then you'll be fine and I'll take care of things here and everything will be okay."

Rory nods slowly. She seems disappointed to Jess, but the two sentences had stolen the breath from his chest, and Jess cannot muster up a reply yet. He manages to pull both of them to their feet as the police and ambulance finally drive in. He thinks, _Why hello there, officers, medical professionals. Did you have a pleasant drive through Stars Hollow? I hope you didn't feel rushed._

He keeps his arm around Rory's waist as a young officer quickly approaches. She asks, "Are you kids okay?"

 _Feeling a little old, but you guys get a pass. Punctuality is a minor virtue,_ Jess thinks but says with confidence, "She needs help. She needs to go to the hospital. Now."

The officer gestures the paramedics over, and they are already coming with a stretcher. Jess helps Rory onto the stretcher, and one of the paramedics asks, "What about you, son? How you feel?"

Not taking his eyes off Rory, Jess returns, "I'm fine."

"You look fine," the older man observes. He has greying hair, wiry glasses. "But we'd still like to take a—"

"I'm fine," he repeats, shooting the paramedic a glare. Pass revoked. He doesn't feel fine, but that's unimportant at the moment. Rory whispers, "Jess…"

The man attempts again. "If we could just issue a bill of—"

"Not necessary," Jess interrupts again, growing more aggravated with each breath drawn to talk to this blasted man. _Just take the 'I'm fine' and shut up_. He orders, "Just take her to the hospital… Please."

It works somehow, since the man relents and with his colleague, he starts to roll the stretcher back to the ambulance. Jess walks with them and slips Rory's cell phone into her hand. She stares at him with fear as she is pushed into the vehicle, farther away from him. Jess looks up at her and says, "I'll be there soon."

The doors close her away from him, and Jess wonders why he said that. He wants to be with her, of course, but he doesn't want to go to the hospital. He doesn't want to watch her in pain while they wrap the wrist he broke. He doesn't want to face Lorelai. He doesn't want to apologize. He doesn't need to because it isn't his fault, or Rory's fault, or the almost-roadkill's fault. It's an accident, but no one will see it that way.

He turns around to face the officer he can feel is lingering behind him. He sighs. It hurts, but needs to be done. It is a sigh-worthy night.

* * *

Luke approaches the shadowy figure on the bridge with its legs dangling over the edge, black boots nearly touching the water. The trail of smoke betrays his presence even further. Luke looks down at his nephew, black hair disheveled, elbows resting lightly on his thighs.

Jess doesn't return the gaze, merely takes a drag of his cigarette and says with a cracking voice, "I made sure she was okay."

"I know you did." Luke says then takes a seat.

Jess stares at his cigarette. "I said I'd see her at the hospital. But I guess it's too late."

Luke shakes his head. His nephew is trying to sound like he doesn't care too much, but this is breaking him. Rory managed to put a crack in Jess's wall, and now that small slit is being wedged apart. Luke insists, "It's not. You can still go."

Jess is puffing on his cigarette when he turns suddenly in anger. "No—"

Huge coughs and gasps erupt from the boy next to him. The cigarette falls into the water as Jess's hands grasp the edge of the bridge. His eyes are wide and body heaving, leaning forward so far that he almost slips into the lake. Luke catches him and drags him backwards. What the actual hell?

"Jess! Jess!" He yells, but it's no use. His nephew sporadically gulps for air that his body isn't accepting. There are droplets of blood on his lips. After laying Jess down on the planks, Luke fidgets with his blasted emergency cell phone while screaming, "Help! I need help!"

Nobody hears. When Luke looks back down, Jess is unconscious, his torso barely lifting to draw in breaths. One ear to his phone and the other to his nephew's chest, Luke can hear strange sucking and blowing sounds over the sound of the operator. Like a bloody balloon deflating. For a moment Luke thinks, _Nobody cares._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

For the tenth time, Rory wonders when Jess is coming. He must have gotten held up with the police. He wouldn't bail, not after what happened tonight. She is walking back from the X-ray room, where she had spent an extra hour and a half just to receive information she already had. Her mom had insisted, and Rory had no energy to put up a fight about it. Suddenly, the accompanying nurse nudges her gently to the side of the hallway. A bed comes rolling around the corner, dashing through the corridor, three people clinging to its rail like sailors on the side of a ship. The nurse had heard its wheels long before Rory had, with the auditory alertness of a cat, trained to know when a hurdling mattress is coming her way.

Rory stares in horror as Jess's body approaches her on the bed, nose and mouth covered by an oxygen mask. He is unconscious with dark circles around his eyes and laid out on the cart like an overworked animal on a farmer's wagon. Exhausted, that's the word that comes to her head to describe him. Exhausted. Rory kicks herself for noting that he is shirtless, and little patches skip around his toned torso, sprouting a maze of tubes. The patches seem randomly placed, though Rory knows they aren't.

She manages to push his name out of her mouth as the bed passes by, though he obviously can't hear her. "Jess?"

Luke walks several feet behind the entourage, pacing faster than he does during a Saturday lunch rush in June. He doesn't seem to recognize her when he goes by, though he looks right at her, and all Rory sees in his blue eyes is worry. Abandoning the nurse, she whips around to follow him, to follow Jess.

"Luke!" she calls, almost jogging to keep up with him. "What happened? What happened to Jess?"

"Oh, Rory. Thank god you're okay. How's your wrist?" He pants out, and his tone is concerned, not evasive. Nevertheless, it is not what Rory wants to hear.

"To hell with my wrist!" She all but screams, earning a brief shocked side glance from Luke. "What happened to Jess?"

Rory feels like she is hyperventilating, or maybe about to cry. She tries to hold it in as Luke stops walking, lightly touching her arm to halt her stride. He says earnestly, "You tell me. Your mother was screaming at me about the accident, but I didn't expect this. Next thing I know, I find him on the bridge choking on nothing but air."

She shakes her head, fear slithering up her spine, its scales rubbing anxiety into her pores. "I- I don't know. He seemed okay. Said he was fine. Twice."

Luke sighs and takes off again, trying to make up ground after the slight delay. Rory follows and hears him muttering to himself. "Dumbass. Smoking on a bridge then can't even breathe right. All those self-help books. All the patches. Waste of—"

"Luke! I'm sorry I don't know what happened. I closed my eyes when we crashed. I'm so sorry!" Rory cries, struggling to keep up as her vision blurs with even more tears. As if she hadn't shed enough earlier in front of Jess, so many that she did not even realize he was hurt. Why didn't he tell her? Why didn't he let the paramedic check him for injuries? Rory knows the answer to both questions, but she doesn't want to let the thought run across her mind. She hadn't asked him, she realizes. He'd asked in the car if she was alright, and she'd answered without returning his question. He had to have been in pain then too. Luke is right. Dumbass.

Luke replies with tenderness and patience, "It's okay. I'll know soon enough."

"Rory, there you are!" At the sound of her mother's voice, Rory turns around and Luke stops next to her. Lorelai is rushing down the hall with, "The nurse said you ran off. Oh, Luke, what are you—"

Luke cuts her off as he backs away with a pointed finger, "I don't want to hear it."

"But, Luke –" she begins but he continues down the hall, yelling over his shoulder, "Lay off!"

Lorelai watches his retreating form, allowed her lips to part in shock. What the…? A few seconds later, she hears his booming voice echo down the hospital corridor. "What do you mean, wait here?! I want to see my nephew! At least tell me he's breathing! What kind of establishment is this?! Don't tell me to calm down…"

She does not know if Luke is speaking softer, they are dragging him away, or her subconscious is filtering out his voice so she doesn't have to hear his panic. Any which way, his shouts fade away and she's left with her daughter and the silence. She finally turns her head to look at Rory.

"You said he was fine," she states simply, unsure what to think, doubting how she feels. It had been easier to lay blame when her daughter was hurt and he was fine. When her Rory was on an examination table with a prescription for pain medication, while the town prankster was flaking out, as per usual. When she had to rush to the hospital and Luke did not need to worry at all. It had been much easier.

A couple hours ago, when Rory was leaving to go to the X-ray room, she gazed sorrowfully down the hall. When Lorelai asked what was wrong, she said she was looking for Jess because he'd said he'd be there soon. That ticked Lorelai off more than anything, ignited her huntress's vigor more than all the sarcastic comments and pointed glances. No one lied to her baby, and not about something like this. She couldn't think of anything else he could possibly be doing other than kneeling at Rory's side to beg her forgiveness. Internally drowning three feet above water had not occurred to her.

Rory responds, "I thought he was fine. He said he was fine… He just wanted them to take care of me."

Lorelai doubts her words, but for the first time, she chooses to believe what her daughter says about him. He could drive away every other person in this town, but Rory is still his friend. He has not driven her away yet, and her daughter is a smart young girl with a strong sense of character. That has to mean something.

While Lorelai is reasoning through this, she does not notice that Rory had begun to cry. Lorelai snaps out of her thoughts and opens her arms, which are fallen into gratefully. She comforts, "They'll take care of him now too. Everything will be okay."

Rory pulls away and exclaims, "That's what he said after the accident, and now everything isn't okay. In fact, it's rather the opposite of okay! This is horrible, and it's my fault!"

Lorelai takes her hand. "No, sweetie, it's not. Don't blame yourself."

Rory breaks away from her mother with her brow furrowed into a mountain's peak. "Why shouldn't I? I'm terrible! And irresponsible! And selfish! Yet everyone is going to blame Jess no matter what I say, especially you!"

Lorelai steps back with the force of the last two words, but her daughter isn't finished. Rory continues with her rant, "I told him to keep driving, I did that! So the accident is my fault, if anyone's! And afterwards, I didn't even check to see that he was okay. Who does that? I let him carry me from the car and didn't notice he was hurt! I—"

"He carried you from the car?" Lorelai can't help but interrupt, recovered slightly.

"My legs felt like Jell-O, and I was so shaken…" She explains, then pauses a moment before saying, "Mom… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get angry at you. I'm frustrated with myself, and this is all such a huge mess. I already know you don't like Jess."

Now Lorelai has to interfere. This isn't fair to her, or to Rory. She isn't a bad person, a judgmental person, she likes to think anyway, and Rory shouldn't feel unable to talk to her mother about the important people in her life. Even if there are perceptions getting in the way.

"True that may be, but it is not like that. I overreacted with hunting down Jess, and I said some awful things to Luke. I just want you to understand I want the best for you, and Jess has given me plenty of reasons to believe he isn't good for you. I want to believe you when you say I haven't seen every side of him, but I'm not pleased by what I have seen. Nevertheless, I would _never_ want to see him hurt."

Rory is looking silently over Lorelai's shoulder, which is noticed as she finishes her rant. She turns around slowly, and Luke comes into view. How did he even get there? He says, "Last I heard, you were going to kill him. Slowly and painfully, from what I was gathering."

She responds, "No, it would have been quick. I was in a rage."

"No kidding…" Luke says, wringing his worn baseball cap in his hands.

Stalling, she asks, "Where did you even come from?"

"I took a walk around the wing. They wouldn't let me see him. You know… He wasn't trying to hurt her."

Lorelai nods. "I do know. It might not even be his fault, any of it… I'm sorry about what I said, Luke. Neither of you deserved it. He's your family, and you're like my family. And he's Rory's friend. I have to accept that."

"It's okay," he says and replaces his blue hat in its rightful spot, backwards and high on his forehead. Lorelai immediately regrets how she phrased it. He's doing that thing where he says something robotically in a monotone. He'll comment neutrally when he's anything but neutral on the matter. Ironic, she realizes. She's standing here in the hospital almost on her knees begging Luke's forgiveness when ten minutes ago, she was demanding the same of Jess for Rory.

"Luke, I'm so sorry," she cries, tears springing to her eyes. She bites her lips to contain the showers with which she's watered him too often. "I'm sorry Jess got hurt, and I'm sorry I blamed him so heavily. Maybe it could have happened to Rory, if she'd been driving. Hell, it probably could have happened to me! I'm really sorry."

Luke nods and lets her embrace him. In an entirely different tone, he repeats soothingly in her ear, "It's okay."

"Mr. Danes?"

Lorelai and Luke separate, though she'd rather hold onto him until all that is bad has disappeared. He gulps and says, "Present."

A doctor in a white coat with a stethoscope hung around his neck faces them. He holds a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other. He is younger than the Clooney-like doctor who had wrapped Rory's wrist. As long as he is just as experienced. As long as he knows what he is doing. He looks between Luke and the two Gilmores. "Is this your family? Would you prefer to speak in private?"

Luke hesitates then remembers Lorelai's comment that he is like family to her. He wants her here, he acknowledges to himself, and Rory deserves to know what happened. He responds after this pause, "No, that's alright. Go ahead."

The doctor nods then launches right in. "We just finished with the X-rays. The X-ray center is down the hall if you would like to view them. As suspected, your nephew has a pneumothorax injury from a broken rib. You said he was in a car accident, yes? We're assuming it broke in the collision, and it punctured his lung. When he moved suddenly, it sent the broken rib further into his lung, which began to fill with fluids while a significant amount of excess air went into his chest cavity."

Luke blinks. The doctor flips up the first page. "However, it seems the injury was sustained a few hours ago. Correct?"

Rory affirms it for all of them with a barely perceivable nod, and he continues on after another crisp _flip_ sound, "It should have been treated immediately, and we are concerned about the onset of an infection. He is being supplied with a constant flow of oxygen for now, but we will take action immediately with your approval."

 _Flip_ goes the page. "We can try to use a needle and syringe to withdraw the air from the chest cavity, but given the delay, this may be unsuccessful. In that case, we will insert a tube into the lungs, drain them and remove the air. Tube suction is a gradual process, and can take up to several days."

 _Flip_. "If that is unsuccessful, and the lung tissue does not begin to heal itself, surgery is the other option. Of course it will be avoided if possible."

 _Flip._ How many goddamn pages are there? "At a glance, your nephew has another broken rib, which can be set, and most likely a concussion on the forward left side of his head, above the temple. Sprained ankle as well, but that is minor. We can discuss the details after beginning treatment. Do you have any questions?"

The words had gone so quickly, and his tone, while not lacking compassion, was calmer than Stars Hollow at midnight on a Tuesday. Luke doesn't know how much of it he managed to catch and process. The doctor finally looks up from his clipboard at him, and he feels his knees shaking in their weakness. He stammers, "May-may I sit down?"

He allows Lorelai to silently lead him to a small lounge off the hallway with a line of rugged seats and a single vending machine. She lowers him into a deflated chair. The doctor and Rory follow, and Luke looks up at the man. "He'll be okay right?"

The doctor replies, "With the proper course of action, I am confident in agreeing with that. Do we have your approval to pursue the aforementioned method? If the needle method is to fail, or tube suction, we will not require your approval to try something else so as not to delay treatment. Of course, you will be updated as frequently as possible. Do you understand?"

Luke nods mutely and takes the pen in his trembling fingers, making a jagged mess on the signature line. The doctor nods and strides out of the room. Lorelai plops down in a chair next to Luke, and Rory descends gradually into the seat on his other side. None of them say anything. Just stare ahead, lost in thought, but not alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Rory is the first to stand up, the first to break the silence. She is angry, confused, frustrated, and she would ball her hands into fists if one of them weren't in a cast. Pacing around the small lounge, she yells, "When did he even have time to sprain his ankle? I saw him! He was walking and being snarky and joking about swimming! He was fine! He said he was fine! He said everything would be okay... He doesn't get to change his mind and have a delayed reaction! That isn't fair!"

She slams her good hand against the lopsided vending machine, running solo in their tiny lounge, and a bag of potato chips falls from the shelf. The blow hurts her good hand, but she can't care now. She runs it over her face to stop the tears before they make another visit. They're like unwelcome relatives. Persistent, showing up without warning, and difficult to get rid of. 'Huh', Jess would say, 'How ironic'. Then they could talk about Mark Twain's use of irony in _Huckleberry Finn_ and he would smile, maybe even with teeth.

Lorelai says, "I know you're upset, sweets, but let's just sit and talk about this. Actually, hand me those potato chips first."

As Rory reaches into the slot of the vending machine, she hears Luke say, "There's nothing to talk about. You guys don't have to deal with this. You should probably head home."

Lorelai says, "Luke, I'm happy to stay with you, at least until you know more."

Rory hands her mother the bag and tells Luke, "Me too."

Luke shakes his head. "This is a problem, a big problem, but… it's my problem. And you should rest, Rory."

The word 'rest' triggers a sensation of tiredness in Rory's body, from the dulled pain in her wrist to her groggy head, but that only reminds her of how exhausted Jess looked when they rolled him by on the bed. She doesn't want to leave him. She needs to see him, to make him talk to her. But she also doesn't want to be a burden to Luke or get in his way. Perhaps Luke is mad at her, for letting Jess get hurt, for not seeing that he needed help.

Rory is conflicted, but Lorelai answers for both of them as she offers Luke a chip. "We'll go if you want us to go. I need to check Rory out at the front desk, but then how about I get you some coffee? Then whatever you need from your place? Maybe a change of clothes or something?"

Luke doesn't look up as he takes the chip. "Coffee…" He clears his throat. "Coffee would be good. Don't worry about the rest. I, uh, have to open the diner in the morning."

Rory is astounded that Luke is thinking about work right now. She supposes it's something to think about besides his nephew alone and unconscious on a white bed in a white room wrapped in white bandages. Lorelai raised her eyebrows at the comment but she responds, "Sure. … The phones are down the hall if you want to call Jess's mother."

Luke chuckles at that, takes another chip. "Great, that's great. I have to tell Liz about this."

Lorelai presses, "She's his mother."

Luke is silent, and so is Rory. She's certain they are thinking the same thing. From what Rory knows about Liz, that title doesn't mean anything. After all, she sent him away, and Jess said she didn't want him home over the holidays. Rory can see that night in her mind, when he jumped onto the sled with her and gave her that piece of himself. Let her know that he didn't have a choice about staying in Stars Hollow instead of going home to New York City. He doesn't tell other people about himself, she is sure about that. Then she smiles thinking about the snow sculpture that Jess had commented on while they were pulled around the town square, its majestic figure 'mysteriously' collapsed the next morning.

Luke relents, "It's late. I'll call her tomorrow. I'll need some information from her anyways, I'm sure."

Lorelai nods and hands him the bag of potato chips. "We'll be back."

He is silent and Lorelai puts her arm around Rory's shoulders as she guides her away. Rory feels numb as they leave Luke behind, as she leaves Jess behind. She will come back in the morning, not that she has a car to drive there. She winces at the thought. When they reach the front desk, Chris is waiting in a chair.

"Dad!" she calls and runs to give him a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Your mom called me. Said you were in an accident. Are you okay? You sure they checked everything?"

"Yes, Dad," she giggles as he gives her an up-down and makes her turn around in front of him. "I'll just have the cast for a couple weeks."

Lorelei trails behind and gives Chris a hug. "Chris, what are you doing here?"

"After you called, I came as fast as I could. They said you guys went off somewhere and to wait here until you came to check out. Where were you?"

Rory swallows and Lorelai takes the lead. "Well, Jess, the one who was driving the car—"

Chris cuts her off. "Did you find him? I need to give that kid a piece of my mind. Jess, you said? I think Dead Meat will do just fine."

Rory shakes her head and objects, "No, Dad, he's hurt. He's… he's really hurt."

Chris looks bewildered. "But, Lor, I thought—"

"I thought so too," she replies while crossing her arms in discomfort. "He didn't get checked out by the paramedics so they didn't know anything was wrong."

Rory senses a pointedness in her mother's words. She knows the statement wasn't meant that way, but Rory can't help but interpret anger in it. In fact, maybe she's a little angry at Jess too. Not for getting hurt anymore, but for getting hurt and not telling her. For getting hurt and not accepting help. It was a stupid thing to do, and it's giving her a headache trying to understand why. She tells her parents, "It's my fault. Not the accident. That's no one's fault. But it's my fault for not making sure he was okay. I should've made the medic check him so they'd force him to go to the hospital. I don't get why he didn't! But I should've talked to him about it. I should've—"

Chris engulfs her in his arms, effectively cutting her rambling short. "It's not your fault, honey. Maybe he's just one of those people. You know, the kind who don't know how to ask for help."

 _And he was trying to take care of me first_ , Rory adds to herself, the thought train she had blocked off earlier now rolling in effortlessly. Pulling a load of coal-black guilt with it. She nods against her father's chest. She doesn't want to accept it, but he's right, in a way. And the two of them have never even met. She had grown accustomed to the idea that Jess needed her, as his friend and his tutor, but he didn't even ask for that. Luke did. Jess doesn't want to need anybody, and Rory shouldn't feel disappointed that he couldn't ask for help, even from her. If Jess needs anyone, it's his uncle, and that's the person they need to support right now.

"We need to check out and get back to Luke. Make sure he's okay," Rory says as she pulls away from the shelter her father built out of his arms. She can't run scared to her safe-house with her parents when Jess and Luke are suffering.

Chris asks, "Jess's uncle, right?"

Lorelai nods and the three of them walk to the desk. While Lorelai signs the paperwork, Rory looks down the hallway towards where she supposes Jess must be, though she didn't actually see where he went. A new wave of guilt hits her, followed by anger, confusion, regret. It's like when she went to the beach as a kid. Being so short, she got knocked over by a wave, and as soon as she got up, another one blasted at her, forcing her down into the water. She can almost feel the burn of the saltwater in her throat, stinging at her eyes. She feels her cheeks and realizes she is tasting her own tears. It forces her to remember the way Jess looked at her while she was crying in the car, when he took her hand. She wipes them away before her parents can see. No more tears tonight.

Lorelai asks Chris, "Can you take Rory home? I'm going to get Luke some coffee then I'll be back."

Rory doesn't have the energy to object, and she needs time to figure out what to say to Luke. She wants to explain what happened, but the words are jumbled in her tired brain. Tomorrow. She'll come tomorrow and by then there will be news on Jess. She can't sit in this hospital anymore not knowing anything.

* * *

While Chris leads Rory out the hospital doors, Lorelai roams through the waiting room, following her nose to the coffee. The only scent that matters, most mornings. She checks her watch. Might as well be morning. She carries the coffee carefully back to the tiny lounge, where they had left Luke, but the chairs are empty. She peeks out again into the hallway and sees Luke standing down aways, seemingly gazing at the wall. As she approaches, she realizes that she is near the X-ray center, and Luke's stare has been entrapped by an X-ray posted on one of the wall screens.

Lorelai knows what she is going to see; she heard what the doctor said. She keeps walking. Luke barely glances away from the screen as Lorelai slides next to him and hands him the hot paper cup of coffee. She takes in the images of Jess's body, literally stripped down to the bones. She sees an image of his ankle, the absence of breaks proving there is only a sprain. She shifts to his skull, also lacking any cracks. The largest image is his torso, where there are two broken ribs, one of them poking at an odd angle. The broken bones are there, just as she knew they'd be, yet the images are like a punch in the stomach. She blinks for an abnormally long time, but the image is still there when her eyes open again. Jess is still broken. And it could have been her daughter. This is what she had feared for Rory, though Dr. Clooney assured her that nothing else was injured. She insisted on another X-Ray as self-assurance, but there is nothing assuring about this. In fact, she doesn't think it's good for Luke to be examining these. If this is painful for her to look at, it must be tearing him apart.

"Any..." she croaks out before clearing her throat. "Any news on Jess?"

Luke shakes his head mutely, not even looking at her. Lorelai says, "Okay. Um... listen, Luke. You let me know if you need anything, anything at all. If you need me to bring you coffee all night, cover at the diner, whatever. I'm there. I'm going to go home and look after Rory. Do you want me to take you to your place? We can come back in the morning."

Luke just shakes his head again, sips his coffee. Lorelai sighs and turns away. "Okay. Goodnight, then."

She makes it four steps before she halts at the sound of Luke's voice. "Thank you, Lorelai."

She looks back and gives him a smile with a nod before walking away again. _What kind of nod was that?_ she asks herself as she strides down the depressing white hall. _Did it tell him, 'Hey Luke, I'm here for you'? Or 'Luke, it's going to be okay'? Or even 'Glad our friendship is intact'? Okay, now I'm over-thinking it. It was a comforting goodnight nod, and that is that._

When she gets home, Chris is waiting for her on the couch, half asleep. He jolts when she steps up, and he says, "Rory? You okay?"

She smiles and touches his shoulder. "It's just me, Chris. How's Rory?"

He rubs his hands over his face as she takes a seat next to him. "She's good. Fast asleep, last I saw. Water and painkillers next to her bed. Extra blankets on the chair. Christmas bell to ring in case she needs us."

Lorelai smiles. "You're very on top of it."

"It's about time, right? So, Lor, what is going on with this Jess kid? I am a little confused, not going to lie. First we hate him and we are mad at Luke; now we don't hate him and we're Team Luke?"

Lorelai sighs. She doesn't want to remind herself of her argument with Luke and the nasty things they said to each other. She replies, "After the crash, Jess made sure Rory went to the hospital and stayed to talk to the police, but he said he would come to the hospital after. Rory was upset that he wasn't there, so I went to find him, but I only found Luke. We got into that huge fight I told you about, and after that is when he saw Jess. Apparently the kid got hurt in the crash and didn't tell anybody, not even Rory. Luke brought him to the hospital and presto."

Chris absorbs the story then asks, "So, will he be okay? I've retracted the Dead Meat label, by the way."

"I think so. Concussion. Sprained ankle. Two broken ribs and one punctured his lung." It is pathetic how casually she can list off the injuries. "It just makes me think... as awful as all of this is, maybe our Rory is the lucky one. I'm not saying better him than her but..."

"Better him than her," Chris affirms with a one-shouldered shrug. "It doesn't make you a bad person to be happy that Rory is less hurt than he is. Or to blame Jess. He did total our daughter's car and she has a fracture. As parents, we can't take that lightly."

Lorelai pinches the bridge of her nose and says, "I'm not taking it lightly. I still think Jess is a bad influence on Rory. I was so angry - until I learned he got hurt. I'm just doubting myself a bit here because... I know it'd be different if it were Dean."

Chris asks with a bitter smirk, "As in, Dean wouldn't crash?"

"No, he could have. Anyone could have. I guess I mean that I'm angry at Jess in a way I wouldn't be at Dean. It's like Rory said, I just don't like him. I wouldn't have hunted Dean down and yelled at his father, you know?"

Chris shrugs. "Talk to Rory about it. Let her visit him, I guess. You can't help that you don't like him. Now, please Lor, let's go to bed. Tomorrow, we can take care of the insurance company and the tow fee then take Rory to the hospital if she wants."

"You're right. Thanks. You sticking around?" She fetches him a blanket and pillow.

"Yeah, I told Sherry I'd be here for the next couple days. I'm going to spend time with you and Rory." He knocks off his shoes and removes his sweater to reveal a tight T-shirt.

As Lorelai starts up the stairs, she turns and says, "Chris, I'm… I'm really happy you're here."

Chris smiles and gives her a nod. A comforting goodnight nod. And that is that.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

It is 7:30am on a Saturday morning when Rory and Lorelai walk into the diner, leaving Chris snoring on the couch. Rory insisted on getting up early to try to catch a ride with Luke to the hospital, and Lorelai seems only slightly bitter about getting up at the same time as the sun. On the way to the diner, Rory got a shortened explanation of Lorelai's argument with Luke the night before, a 'thinglet' whose resolution Rory witnessed, but not cause. When the Gilmores get to the counter, Luke is standing on the other side bent over a large open folder with a calculator sitting next to it. A ledger, Rory realizes when they get closer.

He doesn't even tear his eyes away as he pours two large cups of coffee, dripping very little. Impressive.

"Luke?" Rory addresses him hesitantly as she picks up the mug. "Would it be possible, I mean if you don't mind, that I could ride with you to the hospital?"

He looks up, and she sees that his eyes are red, his face unshaved. His voice is thick, and not with sleep. "What?"

"Woah, there." Lorelai says between gulps of caffeinated liquid. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Luke runs his hand over his face. "Define last night."

Lorelai sighs. "Maybe you should go upstairs and res-"

"I can't!" he says a little louder, then lowers his voice tenfold as he continues to look at the numbers. "I called Liz half an hour ago. Jess doesn't have health insurance, so I need to figure out how I'm going to pay for this. And of course, the needle thing was a fail last night so now I'm looking at a few days of tube treatment."

Lorelai repeats quietly, "He doesn't have insurance?"

Luke grumbles as he plugs numbers into the calculator with aggressive jabs. "I shouldn't be surprised. Why would he have insurance? He can't pay for it, Liz can't pay for it. Why am I even surprised?"

He grumbles a little more, but Rory can't hear any of it. Neither she nor her mother say it, but both of them are recalling how much Luke spent on the building next door a couple months ago. Over $100K. Then the renovation upstairs. How is Luke going to scrounge up enough money to pay this hospital bill? Rory doesn't know much about this stuff, but she knows that medical care is expensive without insurance. Very expensive.

"How about a loan?" Lorelai asks, then rushes to follow up with, "I know how you feel about loans, but it's still an option right?"

Luke just stares blankly, lacking the energy even for a glare, and she says with her hands up, one open and one holding the coffee mug, "Okay, I retract that suggestion."

"I'll figure it out. Rory, did you say you want to come to the hospital? I'm leaving once I get some of these nutjobs out of here." He scans the diner with his _I-hate-everyone_ look, then revises, "Maybe I'll do it now. Right now. They're pissing me off. Sitting there. Eating. And sitting there."

He takes a deep breath and shouts, "Alright, everyone, get-"

Lorelai covers his mouth with her palm. She improvises cheerfully, "Get out of town! How good are those pancakes, right? Hope everyone is enjoying their breakfast! Okay, awesome..."

She turns back to Luke and mutters through clenched teeth, "What are you doing? They're already eating. Do you really want to lose a morning's revenue?"

He tries to talk under her palm, but it comes out a muffled grunt. She says, "I'll cover here for a couple hours. I've had practice. I'll be at the hospital before noon."

She slowly withdraws her hand, and Luke says, "Well since they're staying, let me finish something over there and get something from the back for Caesar and…"

Rory and Luke are eventually pushed out the door by Lorelai after an impressive effort by the diner's proprietor to finish up a few more tasks. He mutters, "Stubborn woman" on his way to the truck, keys in one hand and ledger in the other. Rory follows with a to-go cup of coffee for Luke, making a sleeve out of the end of her scarf. For a man that hasn't slept in at least 24 hours, he stomps very quickly.

* * *

In the intensive care unit, Rory stands outside Jess's hospital room holding her small tote bag in her good hand. Her back is against the wall next to the door so he can't see her through the circular window. Half an hour has passed since they got to the hospital. Luke talked to Jess for about fifteen minutes during which she forced herself not to eavesdrop and now is at the desk discussing payment plans. When he exited the room, he whispered, "I didn't tell him you were here. In case, you know, you decided you don't want to see him."

She is in the exact same position she was fifteen minutes ago when Luke walked away. Her hand tightens on the handle of her bag. She and Luke talked in the car on the way to the hospital, and at first all she could say was, "Luke, it wasn't his fault."

Luke replied tenderly, "I know."

Afterwards, she tried to give him as much detail as she could about the accident, about what Jess did afterwards. Luke is the last person Rory has to defend him to, but it seemed necessary nevertheless. He has to know what Jess did for her, no matter what other people say, what Jess will certainly fail to elaborate on. Now, the only person to whom she's having trouble defending him … is herself. She's angry at him. She came to terms with that during the drive. It seems inherently wrong to be angry at someone who got injured in a car accident- after all, that's why her parents are cutting him slack -but she can't shake this.

She whips and opens the door before she can change her mind. As soon as she bursts in the room and sees him on the bed, all the emotion and warmth drains from her, escaping through her fingertips as she drops the handle of her bag. Jess is sitting in the bed, blanket up to his waist. A few cords along with a clear tube pokes out of the collar of his hospital gown, then there are the IVs. A violet bruise stretches out of his thick black hair to skim his left temple, and the purple circles underneath his eyes nearly match it in color. She shifts her glance to his left ankle that emerges out one corner of the blanket, heavily bandaged and propped up on a cushion.

He doesn't even _look_ at her. His eyes stay on the ceiling, expression bored and tired and disguising pain. The sensations that had drained out before are re-entering at rapid speeds as Rory scans her eyes over him again and again, as the X-rays had done the night before. Pressure is exerting from the inside, like a balloon pumped with too much air. The injuries. His expression. The cords and tubes and blasted beeping from the machine. Rory pops.

"What is wrong with you?!"

Jess lazily shifts his gaze to her, frustratingly disinterested, as if turning his neck is more effort than he cares to employ. His silence is more aggravating than any snarky response he could have invented. She continues, "You got all moody with the medic, and for what? To end up right here anyway!"

He solemnly looks away again, but slowly directs his head back towards her when she demands, "And what happened to your ankle?! There's no way I missed that!"

Jess doesn't say anything, and Rory wants to pull her hair out. "You should've told me you were hurt!"

"Why?" he asks softly.

The question is so simple and obvious that Rory is surprised when she hears it. She tries to recover, "What do you mean 'why'? Because! Because I would have made you go to the hospital! Or I would have stayed to talk to the police! Or better yet, I would have called the police, and then Luke, and I would have… I would have…"

As she trails off, she actually thinks about the question. Why? What would she have done? Besides worried more? And what _could_ she have done? Jess got hurt, and nothing she would've done could have changed that. Except for the part ten minutes before the accident. When she told him to turn right.

"Huh," is all he says, point proven, but his face lacks the usual satisfactory half-smirk as he reverts his gaze to the ceiling. He's back to the monosyllables.

She picks up her bag and lets herself fall into the chair on his left side next to the bed. The cushion already possesses Luke's imprint. She says softly, "I didn't come here to yell at you. I'm just upset. If you had gotten treated earlier, it wouldn't be so bad."

He glances over at her, the slightest raise in his eyebrow. Why is he _like_ this? He's staring at her like he couldn't care any less that he is here, so why does she? Distant and detached, he's constructing fence after fence between them. And that isn't what she wants. Fine. If he's daring her to climb them, then she'll jump as high as she can. "What, did you think I wouldn't care? Of course I care! And I feel awful because I didn't make sure you were okay, when you did everything you could to look after me."

He responds simply, "Not your job."

"Jess… we're friends, right?" She asks dumbly, needing something to hold onto so she wraps the fingers of her right hand around the rail of his bed. It feels like grabbing the rail of a roller coaster cart, climbing to the top. How soon before it plummets? Something flickers in his eyes when she asks, and she interprets that as an affirmative. "Friends look after one another. So it was my job. And I'm so sorry that you're like this."

Jess turns his eyes down. After a few moments, he whispers, "Rory…"

He slowly raises his hand to cover her fingers with his own, the oximeter clip on his forefinger pressing against her knuckle. He shifts his dark eyes to her blue ones. "I'm sorry you got hurt."

Rory has a feeling that is the only apology anyone is getting out of him. He's not claiming fault, as he shouldn't. He's regretting what happened to her, and she to him. It's a different kind of apology. And it is more than enough. It is everything. The vulnerability. The openness. For that split second, there are no walls, on either side. It's too raw, too real. Like the core of an…

"Onion," she murmurs aloud, then pulls her hand from under Jess's fingers to cover her mouth. Heat rushes to her face.

"I am befuddled," he declares, his expression a thorough mixture of confusion and amusement as he withdraws his hand.

She laughs awkwardly. "Um, have you seen that movie that came out a few months ago? _Shrek_?"

"I have not…" he returns skeptically.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out the tape. "I can fix that. Well I see you have a conveniently-placed television over there and it just so happens- I have a film requiring very little brain power."

As she waves the movie in front of him, with its animated blue and green cover case, Jess smirks. "Well, would you look at that. It just so happens I have a massive headache. Nothing like a brainless kids film to remedy."

While Rory puts the cassette into the VCR, she feels Jess's eyes on her from behind. He says, "You asked about my ankle. I tripped. Concussions and coordination aren't pals."

"I'd assume not." She shakes her head in mock disappointment with an hyperbolic sigh.

Pressing the play button and switching off the lights, she turns back and takes him in one more time. Now, in the dim room, it's like the bandages and tubes and hospital sheets are invisible to her. She sees _him_. She sees him in his leather jacket and black jeans with an annotating pen behind his ear. She tastes the ice cream they ate together the night before, in cones as required. She smells the old book he's always carrying and the cigarette smoke, a scent she once detested now barely minds at all. She feels his fingertips on hers, cold and warm and hot and real.

As she adjusts her chair to face towards the small corner screen, she smiles and glances over. There is a small lift at the corner of his lips, his irises illuminated by the television. She thinks, _Ogres are like onions. They have layers._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

"Are you sure they're just friends?"

Chris and Lorelai are staring through the window of Jess's room, spying on their daughter. They are practically mashing their cheeks together trying to peer in through the inconveniently-sized glass circle. Lorelai checks her watch. It is 11:40am. The pair had arrived at 11:30, not that Rory and Jess would know that. They had not looked to the window once since Chris and Lorelai commenced their viewing party several minutes ago. Rory is staring at a book, reading it aloud to her bed-ridden companion, and Jess is staring at Rory. She is perched on the chair next to him with the book propped up on her bent legs, her left hand hanging uselessly in its cast over the arm of the chair. The edge of her seat almost touches the side of the bed. Any closer and she'd be next to him on the mattress.

Lorelai is appalled at Chris's sudden question. "Of course they're just friends! She's dating Dean. You know that."

Chris raises his eyebrows as Rory reaches for a glass of water with two straws on the bedside table, takes a gulp then hands it to Jess who grasps it with shaking fingers. He drinks a tiny sip, then Rory retrieves it to put it back in its place. She barely looks up from the pages. Chris says, "Yeah, but things could've changed. I mean, look at them."

Lorelai _is_ looking at them. That's the problem. She's looking at them and doesn't like what she sees. He's in a hospital bed, but he's still the kid who was rude to her, who walked out on Sookie's dinner, who stole Rory's bracelet, who humiliated Dean, who pressed Luke to the point of pushing him off a freaking bridge. Everything and everyone he touches is damaged. Even himself. He's destructive.

And now he's staring at her daughter with nothing short of tenderness, and Lorelai doesn't know how to react.

The tension building between her brows causes Chris to look over. "Hey, we talked about this. We are giving him a chance, right? For Rory."

Lorelai responds, her eyes still on the snarky kid that disrespected her, "Easy for you to say. You don't know the half of what he's done."

"I know enough. You kind of ranted at me about it on the drive here. While I was trying to talk to the insurance company."

Lorelai forgot about that. That had been blind anger, a different kind of road rage. "Well, still."

"Should I get popcorn?"

Lorelai freezes. Familiar voice. 6 o'clock. She turns slowly as Chris does the same. Luke stands there with crossed arms. Before he can say anything else, she exclaims, "Oh, don't look so judgemental! We weren't doing anything."

He checks his watch. "Yep, no espionage at Room #219, not now and not for the last four minutes."

Seriously, he's been timing them? In that case, at least he didn't get here sooner. Lorelai rolls her eyes, and Chris reaches out his hand, "Hey, Luke, I'm Chris."

Luke takes it, gives it a solid shake. "Yeah, I remember. Were you guys going in, or…?"

He points to the door, and Lorelai waves her hand to dismissively. "No, that's okay. We'll go to the front. Let Rory know we're here and to head out when she's ready?"

"Yeah, sure." Luke starts for the door, but Lorelai grabs his arm. "Actually, Luke, can I talk to you real quick? Chris, I'll meet you out there?"

Chris shrugs and walks away, while Lorelai pulls Luke down the hall a bit. She's sure Rory has seen them by now. Luke takes the offensive before she can start speaking. "They both like books. The doctors aren't letting him read because of the concussion. It's harmless."

Lorelai accepts it, though Chris's innocent question burns in the back of her mind. Did Luke see the way Jess was eyeing her daughter? Maybe not, with their heads hogging the window. She shifts the conversation. "Okay. That actually isn't what I wanted to talk about. So… any luck with the pay plan?"

Luke scratches his stubble. "Ah, I shouldn't have talked to you guys about that. I'm just really tired."

Lorelai touches his elbow. "No, I'm glad you did. You don't have to tell me; I was just checking. See if there's anything I can do."

"Unless you're secretly a leprechaun, not really."

"My green suit went to the cleaners and never came back, unfortunately. How's Jess?"

"No complications so far. If it stays that way, he can get moved out of intensive care Monday morning. To the glorious place where the rooms are less expensive. They said we can avoid surgery if the lung tissue starts healing itself within the next few days."

Medically-inaccurate images of blood, flesh, and organs flash through Lorelai's mind along with the X-ray images she saw last night. She grimaces, and Luke consoles, "Yeah, I hope not too. And I _really_ can't pay for surgery."

"Is his mom helping with the bill at all? Is she going to come see him?"

Luke scoffs. "She's… busy. Not like that. She _is_ busy. She's visiting her friend somewhere. Needed some time away from the city, I guess. She said she'd phone him today."

Lorelai doesn't want to judge Liz. It's hard being a single mother with an absent baby-daddy. It's hard. Especially with a kid like Jess. But… her son is in the hospital. Lorelai would drive day and night to get to Rory, and apparently Chris would do the same. But she doesn't want to judge her. So she lets it go.

"I get that," she responds, noting that he didn't answer about Liz's financial contribution, or lack thereof. "Luke, we're okay, right?"

"What do you mean?"

Lorelai doesn't know if he's playing dumb. "It got pretty heated last night. I want to make sure that _we_ are okay."

Luke sighs. "I should've known you would want to talk about this. I thought we were done with it. Look, you know I care about that girl, and seeing her hurt was hard on me too." He's rubbing his eyes, perhaps in frustration, perhaps in exhaustion, perhaps in both. "I know what Jess has done in the past, so it's easy to lay blame on him. But I'm not going to light him on fire for crashing a car. Even if he didn't almost die right in front of me."

Lorelai patiently waits until he finishes with a miniscule flinch at the last sentence, then says, "I agree with you."

Luke blinks. "What?"

"I said I agree with you. Of course I'm angry my daughter got hurt, and obviously I want to blame the person who was driving. I don't like Jess, not one bit, but it's not fair to pin this all on him. And I was awful to you about it. I've already said sorry but I'm saying it again because I need to know that we're okay."

Luke nods. "We're okay. So you haven't changed your mind about Jess?"

"Absolutely not," Lorelai clarifies. "But I've changed my mind about the accident."

"Yeah, me neither. The kid's still a smartass."

They smile together, and Lorelai spots a calculator in Luke's back pocket as they head back towards Jess's room. As they approach the door, she says, "Let Rory know I'm here, okay? Finish the chapter or whatever. Everything is fine at the diner. I put up the closed sign and Caesar was almost done in the back when I left. And for everyone's sake, get some rest."

She walks down the hall, brainstorming ways to make money fast. Jess has at least a couple more days in the hospital, and Luke is already running himself into the ground worrying about the estimate. This stupid institute is squeezing him for every cent he has. What will the cost be by the time Jess is actually released?

* * *

"Grammar book, as per your request." Luke hands Jess the textbook, surprisingly light for its thickness. Rory must have done something last night, if he's asking Luke to bring him a school book. _How hard did he hit his head?_ Luke asks himself as he goes to turn off the tape player that is making a weird noise.

Jess sets the book on his lap and opens it. The pages have been cut out, or parts of them. A large rectangle has been sliced out the middle of most of the pages, leaving a perimeter of paper and making a compartment within the book. _Too good to be true_ , Luke thinks with an inward sigh. Jess pulls out a checkbook and a pen from inside the paper box. Since when does his nephew even have a bank account? Luke watches from the corner in shock as Jess silently scribbles on the pad with the text's cover as a table, signs, and rips the sheet out. He repeats the process, then reaches out to Luke with the two slips wedged in his fingers like a cigarette.

"Here."

Luke steps forward to accept them. "What is this?"

"Almost everything I have," Jess responds, turning his face away. "Don't worry, the book is from last year."

Luke looks down at the two checks. One is made out to Lucas Danes for $2,000, the memo line reading: Hospital Bill. The other to a Lorelai Gilmore for $500, labelled Car. To Lorelai Sr. or Jr., he doesn't know and he doesn't care.

"And I can get a job after this," Luke hears his nephew say, but his voice sounds far away. He flips the checks over, trying to verify that they're real. They certainly look real. He thinks his jaw is dropped is open, but he can't be sure.

"Jess, I'm not taking these." Luke tries to give him the checks so he can write _VOID_ over the marked lines.

"Sure you are," he replies, not making a move to take them back.

" _No_ , I'm not. Where did you even get $2,500?" Jess is silent, as he so often is, and Luke's thoughts are left to jump to the bridge money then the 500 baseballs then Babette's stupid, terrifying garden gnome. He mutters, "Jesus Christ."

His nephew rolls his eyes at him, as if hearing his thoughts aloud. "It isn't stolen."

Luke waves the checks. "I know what I pay you at the diner, and it's not this."

"I had a job in New York. Gave some to Liz, kept some for myself." He shrugs lightly. "Don't tell her."

Luke could not care less that Liz didn't get every penny Jess earned while he lived with her. What he cares about is that in cities, kids sell drugs. He presses, "What job?"

"It doesn't matter. I got paid for my services, so just take the money."

Luke is too exhausted to continue to argue about his young relative's previous employment. He hasn't slept in 36 hours, and though Jess was apparently unconscious for the most part till 5am this morning, his sleep levels appear just as low. This is Luke's second time at the hospital today, since he returned briefly to lock up the diner properly, fetch some of Jess's belongings, and get some paperwork. Technically third, since he didn't get out of here till 4am. He'll let this go for now, but he will squeeze the answer out of him tomorrow if it is the last thing he does.

On the other point, Luke insists, "I can't take it."

"I'm not stupid, Luke. Hospitals are expensive. And you know I don't have insurance. Liz must've told you by now."

Luke stares down at the checks. $2,000 won't cover the bill, but everything be damned if it doesn't help. He's still reluctant though, and Jess must be able to tell. He says, "Look, at least get that money to Rory. You don't have to deposit that check yet if you don't want to."

Luke looks up at the person in the bed. He barely recognizes him. Where the hell is all of this coming from? Seriously, is this the same screwed-up kid that stepped off the bus five months ago from the Big Apple? He returns his gaze to the money slips, then slides Rory's into his pocket. As for his own, half of his instincts are celebrating that he is finally having some luck with this dumb medical bill. The other half is turning mushy and flipping on dancing lights to revolve around his title of _Guardian_. He sighs and returns his gaze to Jess once again. He's going to regret this. Without looking down, he tears the check in half, then in half again, and again, until it is in tiny pieces in his fingers.

"No, I'm not depositing it at all." He lets the paper shreds rain down on Jess's lap, on top of his incognito grammar book. Let it rain. How ironic. "You are going to keep that money, and you are going to spend it on college. And nothing else. Are we clear?"

Jess responds immediately, "If you wanted me to spend it on college, you should've kept it. Who knows how many strippers-"

"Don't be a smartass! I'm choosing to trust you with this. You're almost an adult. You can hold onto your own money. You've done it for this long. And give this to Rory yourself." He pulls the slip out of his pocket.

Jess refuses to take it. "She wouldn't accept it from me. Pities me too much in my current sedentary state. Besides, who knows if she's coming back here."

"You know she is. But I'll get this to her." He returns it to his jeans.

"Pinky promise with a cherry on top?" Jess asks sarcastically. Luke knows he meant the money, but he can guess with confidence that Jess secretly wants reassurance Rory is coming back. She told Luke she intends to visit as much as she can, especially since Chilton is so close, but he's not going to tell Jess that.

" _Yes_. Now stop talking. You're annoying me, and the doctor said to keep conversation on the light side. You need anything else?"

Jess just shakes his head, staring at the scraps in his lap. He hands Luke the grammar book to place back on top of his dresser. Luke takes it and says, "Good, now I'm going home. Have the nurse call if you need anything."

As Luke is grasping the door handle, Jess mutters, "Lora."

Luke turns around. "Excuse me?"

Jess glances up, then back down again. He says a little louder, "The nurse's name is Lora."

"Right. Of course it is. Have _Lora_ call if you need anything. I'll be back tomorrow after the lunch rush."

As Luke heads down the hall, he wants to pass out then and there, the thuds of his footsteps transforming into a lullaby. Instead he pulls Rory's check out of his jean pocket, flips it a couple times. The kid keeps him on his toes, that's for sure. And he was right. Luke should've kept the check and deposited it into the account he had set up last month with a few hundred dollars at the bank. The one the bank teller Marie signed off on with an amused grin. The one he desperately doesn't want to empty to help pay the hospital. The one labelled _Jess's College Fund_.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

In the hospital's lot, Luke makes it into the car before he opens Jess's grammar book. He saw other items in there when Jess took out the checkbook and pen. Obviously they are worth discretion. He moves the check pad and sees a note, written on a small paper marked with the hospital's seal on the top. It reads in neat, semi-cursive script:

 _Hi Uncle Luke,_

Luke takes a pause to roll his eyes. It's Luke. Just. Luke. Mister Luke if you must. He continues on.

 _I was wondering how long it'd take you to open my book. Nothing worth investigating, or I wouldn't have asked you to get it for me. I hope you took the check I gave you; I'm giving it a fifty-fifty shot. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. Keep it on the down-low. It's a good idea if I go back to New York once I'm released. It'll be hell for both of us if I stay, and you know I'm right._

 _-J_

From under the note, Luke fishes out a couple postcards from New York, probably from Jess's friends at home, then a rubber-banded stack of coupons and receipts from bookstores. Beautiful. Luke sighs and lets his forehead drop onto the top rim of the steering wheel. He isn't familiar with the term 'down-low', but he has an inkling Jess wants this to be a secret, for now. They need to talk about this, but he can't bring himself to process it right now. Moreover, he has no energy to get out of the truck, much less to initiate a discussion with his nephew. And Jess figured that would be the case, damn him.

Half an hour later, Luke jolts awake. He tries to rub away the mark imprinted by the steering wheel under the band of his hat, then starts the truck. It is already dark outside.

* * *

Lora picks up the phone. "Hello? Yes, he's here. May I ask who's calling? Sure, one moment please."

Jess stares at the receiver in Lora's hand as she holds it out to him, not making a move to grab it. Luke was here just a couple hours ago. He asks, "Uncle?"

She shakes her head, pushing the receiver at him again. "Mother."

"Tell her I'm dead." Jess mutters, leaning back onto his pillows, away from the phone.

"Unless you died in the last thirty seconds, it's a little late for that. C'mon, take the call, pay the ridiculous rates, and I'll steal you some hot chocolate from the lounge."

Jess returns her steady gaze with a raised eyebrow until she rolls her eyes. "With marshmallows."

With a satisfied nod, he finally takes hold of the receiver and presses it to his ear. At first, nothing comes out. Is it his lungs? His ribs? Does something hurt? Something should start hurting, right now. He doesn't want to talk to her, to discuss what happened. Does she even have the right to care? Thus commences ten seconds of listening to her breathing. Somehow, he developed through his childhood the ability to tell that she breathed differently depending on how much alcohol she drank. Jess doesn't consider his mother an alcoholic; he's seen much worse. He grew up with people who were much worse. When she has a couple glasses of wine, her breathing is quick and giddy, mimicking the happy beat of her tipsy heart. When she has a bottle of wine, everything starts to slow down, lulling her breath to a deep, slow, muffled sound. Like the thick red liquid left residue in her throat as it made its way down to her stomach to relay sensations of false security and painlessness. Now, listening to her breathing on the phone, states away, she is completely sober. Anxious-sounding, if anything.

"Hey," he forces out after those ten seconds. He hears the reverberation of his voice. He must be on speaker phone, and he can just barely hear the sound of music on low volume. 70s music, and not the good kind.

"Hi, honey. How are you?"

Jess thinks about hanging up, then realizes that Lora moved the base to the small counter next to the sink before she left the room. Traitor. He doesn't have the energy to be angry. Let his mother think she cares. He replies, "Been better, Liz."

"I'm really glad you're okay. Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"No."

That single word comprises most of their conversations. 'Did you do this?' No. 'Just dump him already.' No. 'Do you want to try another school?' No. 'Did you do the grocery shopping?' No. Jess wants to explode as he hears the syllable over and over again. 'Do you want to leave New York?' No. 'Do you think you have a choice?' No.

"Alright. I got the gist from Luke, anyway." At his silence, she continues, "Do you know when you get to leave the hospital?"

"No," he replies, then hearing the sound of his own voice echo in the telephone, he elaborates, "Probably Friday."

"That's good… I wish you'd be more responsible, Jess."

He rolls his eyes. He has heard this so many times before. How hypocritical can one person be? He wishes she'd be more responsible. Just like all the other kids, he banked his hope on stars, invested his faith in clovers, that his mom would grow up, do better. But stars don't mean anything. They're just bunches of plasma held together by gravity and surrounded by emptiness. And four-leaf clovers? That one's just stupid. How could he put trust in a half-inch tall plant to change his birther? It's true, they want the same things for one another. Grow up. Do better. Be responsible. He doesn't understand her, and she doesn't understand him. Although, Jess is starting to comprehend why Liz is so eccentric, unreliable. Being raised in Stars Hollow would drive anyone to the brink. She had to get out. Jess is going to get out.

Jess replies, "Yeah, well, now you have a new wish for your birthday next year."

She sighs loudly, but she doesn't remind him. Jess doesn't even need it. Liz's birthday is in a week, and for now, he is going to let her think he forgot. The truth is, he's pretty good at remembering birthdays. So is Luke, apparently. They agreed, begrudgingly on Jess's part, to sign a card to mail ahead of time and a birthday call to mother dearest on the day of. Since he's going back to New York, maybe he'll actually pay for her to buy herself a new clothing item, or do something with whatever dipshit she's dating. He doubts it's the same dipshit that helped get him kicked out. For now, though, she'll believe he forgot her anniversary of birth, just like she did for him three years in a row.

Liz switches gears. "How is school going?"

"Peachy," Jess snaps back.

"Jess… " she whispers. There is a sadness, an exhaustion, in saying the name of the son she never planned, never knew.

Jess wants to groan, to drop the phone into a hole in the floor. He hates it when she says his name like that. He wills the tiles to open up to reveal an infinite abyss that Liz can talk to instead of him. He asks, "What do you want me to say? Stars Hollow High is swell, just like school in Brooklyn, in Queens, in Harlem. Remember that one in Jersey when you married Mike? This one is so much better."

He can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. "Jersey wasn't that bad."

"Yeah, before the fifteen million eviction notices."

No defense. She gives it another go. "And the diner?"

"Peachier."

She cries, "Well thank you for the enthusiasm!"

"I live to please," is what rolls of his tongue, but it lacks the usual charisma. His energy absorbing into the bed. Maybe there's a way he could absorb into the bed. Melt in his feverish cold and hot flashes, soak into the sheets, fade away until there is nothing left.

"Jess…" she says again in the same way. "I'm trying here."

 _Then we have different ideas of trying_ , he thinks, but he knows underneath that she actually is. She is staying calm and collected, not plummeting towards dramatic outbursts nor exploding into eccentric nonsense. This is the second conversation they have had since he moved to Connecticut. The first was a few weeks ago, when Jess realized one of his Hemingway books was missing from his collection. He had no choice but to make the sacrifice, call Liz, and tell her to look for it. It had been a difficult call, just like this one. But she is putting forth effort, and Jess prepares to meet her less than halfway.

"I know," he murmurs. "Thank you for calling me."

Her smile is evident in her voice when she returns, "You're welcome. I wanted to make sure you were okay, see how you're doing. Guess what?"

"You've gotten into palm reading?" Jess hurls out a guess, though knowing the rate at which Liz finds her new 'passion', it may not be far off.

"No, although that could be a good idea. I got a hamster!"

Jess is not religious, but he says a miniature prayer to whatever is up there, or down there, if it is anywhere at all. That fluffball is as good as dead.

* * *

Jess stares at the ceiling, willing the sleep to come, but it refuses. While he was on the phone with Liz, he felt exhausted. During their conversation, especially when she started telling him about her hamster's play habits, he could see Sleep beckoning him. She was wearing a pale grey dress that complimented her stormy eyes, and she had that 'come hither' look that girls sometimes give. Then she walked away as soon as he got off the phone, evading him once again. He has barely slept since he got to the hospital, even though he spends all day in a bed. He got two hours last night, added up from several intervals. It's too quiet here. It's too quiet in Stars Hollow. That's why he needs music to sleep. He is from the city, where there are cars and people and animals and sounds all the time, day and night. At least back at the apartment, he can turn on music to drown out the silence, to drown out his own thoughts. Here, he doesn't even have that.

He sits up after several minutes of failure, grabbing the small notepad from the side table. The top page has been ripped out, the one he put into his grammar book for Luke to find. He'd bet money that his uncle has already seen the note. It was just easier than bringing it up in person, and Luke is a snoop. He starts to write,

 _Rory,_

 _During my twelfth birthday, my mother Liz was with her boyfriend Mike in New Jersey. She did not call. I spent that birthday with my friends. I accidentally got locked out on the fire escape until the next morning. The ladder was less than trustworthy. The day before my thirteenth birthday, Liz smelled marijuana on me. She pushed me out the door without my key, and I was too high to care. I did not come back for three days, and after that we did not talk about it. I went to a big party the night of my fourteenth birthday. I didn't drink until midnight, but my friends were wasted by eleven. I had waited all day for Liz to call, so I figured a few more hours couldn't hurt. She never did. When the clock struck midnight, signalling my birthday officially over, I took three shots of gin. No one knows these things about me, but it's nice to have someone to address this to._

 _-J_

As was the initial plan, Jess crumples the paper into a tiny ball and shoots it into the trash can. No rim. All bag.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

"What does Dean think about all this?"

Rory blinks at Lane's question. "Dean? Oh, Dean! Um, he doesn't know yet. He's at his grandmother's till Friday, and I'd like to tell him in person."

Lane jots down a description of the vintage chair in her notebook after a quick overlook. Rory pushes it aside with one foot so she can see the night table behind it. Lane responds, "Well, just make sure you're the first one. The talk about the accident is spreading like wildfire."

"I'm not surprised," Rory says. "My dad said two people already tried to tell to him about it, and he doesn't even live here. It's been less than 24 hours!"

Lane steers back to Dean. Her boyfriend. "How upset do you think he'll be? Scale of 1 to 10?"

"Is 12 an answer choice? He's going to freak. And if Jess weren't already at the hospital, he'd put him there." Rory hands Lane the purple pen, color-coded as vases, jugs, and other such containers.

"He can always prolong the stay," Lane offers, twisting the porcelain vase to check for a design to describe.

An image of Jess in the hospital flashes through Rory's mind. Exhausted and drugged and unable to even read a book. She tries to avert her attention to the scuff on the toe of one of her grey Converses. "I knew before that Jess would get blamed, but then he ended up in the hospital. I thought that would change things."

"And you were wrong?" Lane asks in a falsely innocent voice, feigning shock as she places her fingers over her mouth, the pen wedged between them and nearly grazing her cheek.

"Hey, take it easy," Rory shoots back, trading the purple pen for the green one. "I just didn't think they'd blame him so… entirely. I was there too."

Lane pulls her tape measure across the tabletop. "2 feet, 3 inches. Of course you were there, but he's _why_ you were there. And he was the one driving."

"Lane!"

Her friend jumps onto the defense. "I'm not saying they're right. I'm saying I don't understand why you're so shocked by everyone's reactions. They have an impression of Jess, and first impressions are lasting impressions. If you form a first impression over 5 months."

"But I've been trying to tell them it's my fault too, though really it isn't anyone's fault. And none of them are listening!" Rory wants to scream in exasperation, then suddenly asks in a softer voice, "Do you blame him? Are you mad at Jess?"

Lane lowers her notebook and adjusts her glasses. "I'm upset that you're wrist is broken, but I'm not mad at Jess. It was an accident. Rory, I'm on your side. You know that."

"Thanks, Lane. You should've heard what Babette said to me about it." Rory accepts the assurance; she desperately needs it, though she knows there shouldn't have to be sides. Not requiring prodding to continue, she goes on, "Did you know she used to be in a cult? Apparently she joined a cult because some guy told her to, and she equated that to me and Jess! He's a, note my quotation fingers here, a dirty little wolf trying to lead me astray."

Lane laughs, and the girls let the conversation fall away from Jess, Dean, the accident. Rory cannot handle the pressure of it all right now; she'll think about it tomorrow when she returns to the hospital. Today, she's going to watch a movie in the Town Square with her best friend and parents. Christopher is barely ever here, and now that he is, bonding shall ensue. Serious bonding. What Lorelai calls "scar-him-for-life bonding", though she didn't explain why. Yes, tomorrow, she'll think about the accident, and today, she will spend time with her father before he has to leave. Again.

* * *

But life isn't from _Gone with the Wind_. Rory can't act like Scarlett O'Hara and declare that she will think about it tomorrow because tomorrow is another day. Nope, today is the day, and life wants her to think about it now.

Dean calls thirty minutes before Movie Night is supposed to start in the Town Square.

"Hello?" Rory picks up the landline while offering her dad a Skittle. Nothing like a pre-movie snack before the pre-movie. Her mother warned her to bring a blindfold for a pre-showing Kirk original. Rory senses she should bring earplugs too.

"Hey, Rory!" Dean's voice says excitedly. "Guess what?"

Rory moves into her room after begrudgingly sacrificing the rest of the Skittles bag to Christopher. She says, "Your grandmother's house blew away and you don't think you're in Illinois anymore."

Dean chuckles. "Am I Dorothy in this scenario?"

"Nah, let Clara take the lead. You can be Toto."

"So now I'm a dog. Thanks, babe."

"Anytime. So what's up? Where did my guess fall short?"

"Everywhere. I called to tell you I'm coming home Monday night instead of Friday. Something came up at work for my dad so give it 48 hours, and I'm all yours."

Rory's eyebrows shoot up like two rockets side by side whose fuses reach the base at the exact same time. Monday. Geez, what happened to one week of formulating what to say? How does she prepare for this? She's a planner. Planners make plans and execute them while controlling for as many variables as possible. All the variables are flying frantically around her head now and she can't grab onto a single one. She is Spongebob struggling to catch a plump, pink jellyfish in the net, a net woven out of-

"Rory, you there?" Dean asks.

"Yeah. I'm here. Um, that's awesome! I'm sorry your visit with your grandmother got cut short. I know she and Clara were excited." She slides on the sleeves of her jacket.

"Nah, it's okay. Chicago is too crowded. Anyway, I'll let you go. It's Movie Night, right?"

"Yep. _The Yearling_." She exits her room.

"Solid choice. Sorry to miss it. I'll see you tomorrow. We get back at 7 on Monday. Love you."

"Go straight home, okay? I'll be waiting for you when you get back." Rory says before hanging up. Shoot, shoot, shoot. She has a small fraction of the time she thought she did. She hears Lorelai call for her and drops the phone into its base before heading out the door with her parents.

Rory runs up to Lane in the Town Square. All she says is, "SOS".

"Tell me about it. That cast is so boring. Angry girl for an angry arm." She holds up a sticker and starts peeling off the backing paper.

"No, Lane! SOS! Dean called. He's coming home Monday night, not Friday. What am I going to say? What am I going to do?" She raves while barely keeping her arm still enough for Lane to press the sticker onto her cast.

"Lead up to it with some pie?" She proposes as they keep walking.

" _Real_ suggestions, please."

"That was a real suggestion." Lane snaps her fingers after a few seconds. "How about a note? Use your persuasive writing skills to nudge him away from the dark side."

Rory considers it as she scans the seats for her parents. "You know, that's actually not bad. Good thinking."

"Lane and brain don't rhyme for nothing." She responds.

"That was so corny."

Lorelai approaches the two teens and says, "Hurry and take a seat. You guys don't want to miss this. Which means you do want to miss it. Because Kirk."

 _Because Kirk. That should be a new town saying_ , Rory thinks.

"Don't give Kirk too much credit now!" Miss Patty saunters up to them in a mass of saucy glamour. A sequined shawl hangs over her large shoulders and bosom, sparkling in the rays of the streetlamp. "Yours truly played a big part. You'll know it when you see it."

"I'm sure we will, Patty," Lorelai answers. She ducks back slightly when Miss Patty's long cigarette waves quickly through the air as she whips around at the call of her name. The smoking tip misses Lorelai's face by inches.

"Patty, doll, come here!" Babette's raspy voice cuts through to the quartet.

"See you darlings after the show," Patty says over her shoulder with a small wave as she goes to join the other town gossip. Lorelai sighs audibly in relief.

Christopher walks past them saying, "I'm going to get some popcorn."

"I'll come with you. Actually, I'm going to put my coat down first," Rory says, and her mother pokes her to signal her request for an additional carton.

As she shuffles through their row to put her jacket next to her father's leather one, she hears Patty exclaim, "I know!"

"I mean, look at the poor tot. All torn up and in that cast. I heard she has to keep it on for two whole weeks!" Babette hisses back.

"And it wasn't even his car!"

Rory glances behind her and sees the two women engulfed in their conversation, too occupied to see her listening fifteen feet away. She slips into her seat to attract less attention.

Babette says, "I tried to tell her it's his fault. Even told her my cult story. She seemed out of it, though."

Should Rory cover her ears? Make her presence known? She doesn't want to listen to this, and she shouldn't have to.

"She's probably just upset with it all, and with him, of course," Patty answers. "I mean, everybody is. Luke hasn't talked about it yet, but what do you think he's going to do?"

Rory slumps down in her seat, deciding to remain unseen, and is instantly disheartened by the mention of Luke. Poor Luke. Patty's companion says, "I have no idea. I heard he might be shipping the kid back to New York. Greta's friend Dawn saw him carrying some huge boxes into the diner earlier."

Rory freezes, then shakes her head. Boxes don't mean anything. But Babette continues, "With a new roll of packing tape!"

Miss Patty argues, "Really? I don't think Luke would send him off like that."

"Maybe the kid wants to go. I mean, he should be ashamed of himself for doing that to Rory."

"True enough. But now what are we going to do for entertainment around here?"

"I don't know, doll. Back to Lorelai's dating life, probably. Oh, it's starting!"

Babette's announcement brings Rory back into her own body. She has been glaring at the leg of the seat in front of hers, focused on nothing besides Babette's and Patty's voices. She tries to begin processing the conversation, then reminds herself of what Lane said. She should not be surprised that Jess is taking the fall here, whether he deserves it or not. And she should know better than to think some boxes and tape means he is going back to New York. He's only been here a few months, and Luke wouldn't fix up the apartment and get Jess a tutor just to give up on him. Just to send him back to the city to live with Liz when he didn't do anything wrong. No way.

She looks up just as her father is seating himself next to her. "For someone so young, you have a very short memory span. Here's your popcorn."

Rory takes the carton, but her stomach feels queasy. Screaming out in starvation mere minutes ago, now it doesn't know if it wants the butter-coated puffs. Rory gives it an answer by shoving a fistful in her mouth as she watches Kirk appear on the screen. This is nothing.

While they watch the short film, Rory leans into her dad. He tries to cover her eyes and grimaces at Kirk's physical exposure. And while he is gone getting them all refills of popcorn for the main film, Rory tells Lorelai, "I like it when he's here."

Her mother responds with a genuine smile. They both wish he doesn't have to leave after the film, Lorelai more than she would let on. "Yeah, me too."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter VIII

"Make it stop!" Jess moans, reaching for the remote control, but he is much too slow. Rory snatches it up from the mattress and tucks it next to her leg.

"No can do. You have to suffer just like the rest of us. Sorry, neighbor."

She looks back down at her notepad, bearing the words _Dear Dean_ and nothing else. She thought seeing Jess in this setting would inspire the words to foster Dean's sympathy. Nothing so far. She turns her chin up to gauge Jess's reaction so far to _a film by kirk_ , and the disgust on his face is too amusing. Because Kirk. He chides, "What did we talk about? No calling me neighbor. Not my town."

Rory flinches as she recalls what she heard vicariously last night from Patty and Babette. _Not my town._ She argues, "Nope, you're an honorary member. Viewing Kirk's bare chest serves as your christening. Welcome."

"He's going to take his shirt off? Isn't the dancing enough?" Jess grimaces. Only several seconds later, "Nope, there it goes."

Rory observes in a mutter, "The black and white makes him look even paler."

The words 'a film by kirk' appear on the black screen, and Jess releases a sigh of relief as he lets his head drop back. "Never again."

"Rewind it, you say?" Rory teases.

Jess points his finger at her, but most of the effect is lost because of the oximeter clipped onto it. Rory finds it cute instead of intimidating. He says, "Don't. You. Dare."

Rory shrugs and gets up to eject the tape, one of two copies being distributed all around the town for all Stars Hollow citizens' viewing pleasure. Jess should offer thanks for her getting hold of one. She says, "If you're sure…"

Jess's voice probes curiously from behind her, "Dear Dean. Dear Dean, what?"

Rory whips around and sees that Jess managed to reach over to grab her notepad from where she left it on the side table. She cries, "Jess!"

She snatches it back from him, easily re-obtaining it. He says, "What? Clearly you wanted me to see it or you wouldn't have left it there waiting to be grabbed."

"No," Rory corrects as she glares, settling back into her seat. "I did not. And that is a dangerous way to think about other people's property."

"Whatever you say. So, what are we writing to Dean dearest? Is it a love note? A request for elopement?" He coughs into his fist after the second snarky suggestion, with a slight twitch of pain following in his brow.

Rory makes note of the cough, but doesn't say anything. When it comes to Jess's health, she never comments or inquires. Since they watched _Shrek_ together yesterday, Rory has avoided all conversation surrounding the accident, his injuries, etc. She figures he has to talk to everyone else about how he is feeling, what hurts and what doesn't, how his treatment is progressing, so why should he have to tell her too? Why should she make both of them feel worse when they can talk about books and bands?

Rory tries to look angry. "Can it, Jess. _We_ are not writing anything to Dean, and what _I_ write to him is none of your business."

Jess is silent for a moment then says, "Oh, I get it. Dean doesn't know yet."

"Well, no. Not yet. I told you, he's at his grandmother's."

He suggests, "You know, there are these things called telephones. I'm sure you can figure out how they work."

"I want to tell him in person," Rory returns, letting his sarcasm roll off of her like a raindrop on a waterproof jacket.

"With a note?" Jess inquires skeptically.

"Yes with a note, that he can read in person. He gets back tomorrow night."

Jess snickers. "Well alert hospital security. I'd like to request 24 hour protective guard from a 12 foot giant surrounded by fires of fury. Unless he's at the market, selling pitchforks and torches."

He coughs again and winces in pain. Rory disregards his comment to ask, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Rory raises an eyebrow. She can almost hear him harshly telling the medic 'I'm fine' twice after the accident, when he was not fine. The nurse has come in several times during Rory's visits, to check his breathing or give drugs. Rory has pretended not to pay attention, but realized that almost every time the nurse asks him a question pertaining to pain or behavior, Jess's reply is 'fine'. Rory was asked to leave for 20 minutes earlier, but she chose to peer in and saw the nurse lift Jess's arm above his head so she could check the tubing. Then she made him control his coughing, but each spurt put a discomforted expression on his face. Not fine. Rory stopped watching after that, leaving to find some coffee. She and Jess are friends, as she managed to establish yesterday, and watching a friend in agony is like putting pins in your own shoes. So she's not going to ignore it if something is actually wrong.

Seeing her expression, Jess insists, "I am. Broken ribs, remember?"

"Nope. I forgot in 36 hours," Rory responds, then asks, "Can I get you anything? Or call the nurse?"

He rolls his eyes. "I said I'm fine. But… do you think you could grab that ice from the box over there?"

Rory practically jumps out of her seat to get to the chill box in the corner. She takes out the ice pack and uses her hands to break up the inside of the cloth sack. When she turns back, Jess is slipping his hospital gown just slightly off his shoulder, but it is enough for Rory to see it below his collarbone. A tube. Not thick, only a couple millimeters, yet that's a large hole to have bored into the skin. Its insertion point is thankfully covered with a piece of tape to hold it in place, but nevertheless, Rory cannot stop staring.

"Rory?" Jess's voice pulls her out of her reverie. "I know I'm a prize to look at, but snap out of it."

"Oh, sorry." She tries to chuckle as she hands Jess the ice pack, who maneuvers it inside his hospital gown and onto his chest. She hesitates before asking, "Does it hurt?"

"Does that hurt?" He asks in return and gestures to her arm.

Rory looks down on it, covered in stickers and permanent marker. "It's fine."

"Then it's fine," he says calmly. The noise that leaves Rory's stomach emerges as a disheartened sigh combined with an exasperated groan. She never knew someone who could manage to frustrate and captivate her as much as he does. He's bloody impossible, yet she won't stop coming back here to see him. She can't stop.

He pulls her out of her thoughts once more. "So, what are we writing to Dean?"

"I told you, _we_ are not writing anything."

"You just look like you could use some help." He leans his bed back a little with the control buttons and holds the ice pack to his chest with a light touch. He closes his eyes, and lets out a long exhale. Rory wishes that the discomfort he is feeling could go with it. She would think he's learned the secret of instantly falling asleep, but he seems to just be controlling his breathing. In fact, now that his eyes are closed, she can take in the features of his face. The bruise on his temple is changing colors, and the dark circles around his eyes are starting to worry her. He spends most of the day in bed, yet looks like he hasn't slept well in days. How is that?

Rory has a delayed reaction to his words. "I think I can write a letter to my own boyfriend. Um, do you want me to go? You look kind of…" Jess just shakes his head slowly, with miniscule turns of his neck. Rory finishes pathetically, "Tired. I could read the next part of _Oliver Twist_."

He moves his head against the pillow to signal no, even slower than the first time if that is possible. Rory twiddles her thumbs. Stupid idea, anyway. It seems like Jess can barely concentrate on her voice; how could he focus on a book being read to him? She studies his face again. There is tension building between his eyebrows. She is about to ignore what he said before and reaches to press the nurse call button, but he speaks with closed eyes, "You should start by telling him you really care about him. So he can hold onto that through the rest of the letter. Like a beacon of sanity."

She withdraws her hand from above the button and looks down at the notepad in her lap, blank but for two words. A beacon of sanity. He has a point. She jots down under _Dear Dean,_ :

 _First of all, you know that I love you. I have something important to tell you that are not going to like, but keep in mind that I really care about you. That's why I want you to hear it from me._

Why is _Jess_ helping her with this? Jess, who despises Dean and flirts shamelessly with her wherever and whenever? How hard did he hit his head? After she stops scribbling, he continues, "Okay, now really lay it on with the Luke begging you to tutor me. You were just doing a favor."

 _On Friday night after dinner with the grandparents, I went over to the diner to help Jess study. Luke begged me to be Jess's tutor and threw in free snacks, so I was doing him a favor._

Rory looks up and says, "Jess, I don't…"

He goes on, "Then keep it brief. Study break. Ice cream. Animal. Jess is the shittiest driver to ever get behind the wheel of a car."

"I'm not writing that! Jess… " Rory feels awful talking about it, when she's been avoiding the topic for two days, but it has to be done. _It's not your fault._

As if she'd said that aloud, he responds, "I know. But he won't know that. He's going to blame me anyway, just let him."

Rory shakes her head. "No, I'm not writing that."

"Better me than you," he mutters, eyes still closed. They flash open when Rory's weight sinks the mattress next to him.

She sits facing him but can't bear to look at him so she stares at the white sheets instead. The anger and sadness is turning the pit of her stomach into a full, yet endless void. The fingers of her right hand wrap around the rail next to her, gripping onto it with a force that turns her knuckles white. After several seconds of silence, and of Jess waiting for Rory to speak, she whispers, "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

Sitting next to Jess on his hospital bed, Rory can hear them, too clearly. Her parents. Babette. Miss Patty. Taylor. Taylor, who just earlier this morning warned her not to get addicted to painkillers, called Jess a natural disaster, and closed by giving her a peach. She tried to apologize for hitting his bench, and now 'Jess' could be the local name of the next tornado that comes within a 100 mile radius of Stars Hollow. All these people acting like she's an idiot who got strung along then hurt by a guy with more malicious intent than a serial killer. Why should he alone be held accountable? She wants to share this burden with him. She wants everyone else to shut up and stop laying blame. And if someone has to take the fall, they should go down together. She wants people to stop rejoicing that she isn't nearly as hurt as he is. 'At least he got the brunt of the damage; after all, better him than her.' So many people believe that, and it's hurling Rory into the deep end to think that Jess believes it too.

Jess just runs his fingers over the cast on Rory's arm, which rests between their left thighs. It wasn't actually a rhetorical question; Rory needs to know why. As he traces the stickers and rubs his thumb over the permanent marker displaying Lane's loopy signature, Rory presses, "Do you really believe that?"

"I don't know," he answers noncommittally, then adds, "But I'm glad you didn't get more hurt. If that took a couple broken ribs and a concussion, then whatever."

Rory feels very uncomfortable then. He cares. She's always known it, especially with how he took care of her after the accident. She knew it when he gave _The Fountainhead_ another chance. She knew it when he confided in her about his mother. She knew it when he told her she will be the next Christiane Amanpour, he's sure of it. But with Jess, the lines are always blurred, the scene never coming into focus. He has so many layers, such a thick facade. She spends so much time knocking at the door, trying to get in, that she is shocked when it actually opens. Now she is standing at the stoop with her fist hanging in the air, feeling awkward and stupid.

Jess lets her off the hook by shutting his eyes again and reverting to, "Okay, write the next part, then read me what you have so far."

Rory stammers, "This isn't- I can't - None of your business!"

Jess's smirk is evident in her peripherals when she picks up the pen and starts to scribble words onto the paper once more, not making a move to leave her perch on the mattress. After all, it is more comfortable than the chair.

* * *

"That was good. The beginning is still a little mushy, though."

In a spurt of desperation, Rory let Jess have input into Dean's letter. She tried to write it, but everything started to blend together and she couldn't find the right words. Not to say Jess's advice didn't lack sarcasm and jabs at her boyfriend, but Rory is adjusted to his sense of humor. Infuriatingly, he continued to give good points in writing the letter, especially in the areas in which Rory would have begun to rant. She keeps her writing concise and informative when it comes to _The Franklin_ at school, but this is different. This is personal. Jess helped her take a step back to write something that makes sense and hopefully, will placate Dean.

She just finished reading the letter to her companion in its entirety. During the reading, she could feel Jess's eyes on her, and her own cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Jess is the last person who should hear Rory share her feelings for Dean. The absolute last person. At the beginning, she forced herself not to look up to gauge Jess's reaction to her words; she knew his expression would be unreadable anyways. Maybe he just wanted to hear how Rory is portraying him to the outside world, though she doubts he doesn't already know.

"You said to start by lighting a beacon of sanity. Cue the beacon," Rory shoots back, and Jess rolls his eyes. She can't resist asking, "Why are you helping me with this? You don't like Dean."

'Don't like Dean' is a gross understatement. The disdain between the two of them is poignant, thick and heavy with the scent of testosterone. He shrugs, and Rory determines that she will find out later. He still doesn't look well, and she doesn't want to push him. She asked three times if he needed anything during the letter-writing process, and after the third, he threatened to give her details of Luke's sex life if she asked again. So she silently returned his ice pack, which he was using to reduce the chest swelling, to the chill box and grabbed another, placing it on his ankle. Then she resumed her place next to him on the mattress to finish the letter, while he stared at her wordlessly.

Now Rory returns his gaze, but he looks away suddenly, finding the ceiling drastically more interesting in that moment? With the jerk of his neck, his respiration picks up, the breaths coming quicker. Gasps intermittent with coughs erupt out of him as he places a hand on his chest and sits up further.

Rory hears herself screaming his name as he leans forward, and she stabilizes him before he can keel over. His forehead comes to press on her collarbone, sending her skin into shock with the heat. The sound of the ice pack hitting the floor barely registers; it sounds so far away. She slams her palm down on the red emergency call button on the rail, once, twice, three times. Then she holds him against her as he struggles for air, and thoughts and reason evade her. She tucks her fingers into his hair, clutching the tiny curls at the nape of his neck with her right hand. They could have been embracing. She can feel him trying to slow his breathing, but his body won't let him. She branches her fingers through his black hair before retracting them to hold the shortest ones at the bottom, probably too tightly. As if she holds him close enough, hard enough, she could absorb some of his pain. Fighting back tears, she lets him lean on her and whispers into his ear with her eyes squeezed shut, "Hey, you're okay. You're okay."

Maybe she is saying it because she wants to believe it so strongly. Maybe she just needs to hear it before she faints from panic. But she can also hear Jess's voice in her mind from two nights ago while she sobbed in the car, inflicted by fear and hurt. Her eyes were squeezed shut then just like they are now, too scared to view reality. He was strong for both of them, even though he was scared and injured too. So Rory keeps him in her arms, reassures him, and reassures herself, while she wonders why no one has come yet.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter IX

"He's going to be alright. Mr. Danes, like I said before, it was just a small complication with the tubing system."

"Are you sure?" Luke asks again.

"His lung doesn't seem to be in any worse condition. The system has been replaced." It is the same calm doctor from Friday night, with the clipboard of infinite sheets.

"So no surgery?" Luke re-affirms.

The doctor shakes his head. "For right now, no. We usually give it four days before definitively saying surgery is off the table. As far as we can tell, it doesn't seem necessary in your nephew's case."

"But he's okay?" That's number three.

The doctor nods with a tight little smile. 'How many times is he going to ask?' are the words stretched thinly over the line of his lips but instead goes, "Yes. His breathing and systems are stable now. Like I said, he has a small fever, but it should be gone by tomorrow, Tuesday at the latest. And we are still on schedule to move him out of ICU in the morning."

 _Hallelujah,_ Luke thinks. He knows Jess won't be happy in the non-private room, but it's all he can afford. Well, it's the most affordable, anyway. He brainstormed last night and arrived at a frightening conclusion. For now, it is the last resort. Hopefully some path to debt-free paradise will be illuminated by the glorious lights of a gracious higher power. If not, Luke is taking a walk to the bank. Loans are dumb. Loans are the worst. Loans are the bank's way of keeping you enslaved to them, and Luke refuses to belong to any institution that isn't his diner. But it's a last resort. He also a strategy to repay it as quickly as possible, a last resort to the last resort, but it all depends on the market.

"Good, good. How often will you check on him? What if something like this happens again?"

The doctor replies, "This shouldn't happen again, Mr. Danes. We can't check in multiple times an hour like we do now, but he also has a call button if he ever needs us."

Luke asks, "Is that what happened today?"

"Actually, someone was with him. She pressed it, she said."

Luke knows there is only one person who would be visiting the hospital to see Jess. After all, there could be something else going on, anything else going on. The townspeople would rather watch Kirk try to make a decision about a purchase than come see his nephew. He asks, "Is she still here?"

"I believe so. She looked shaken up. The nurse had trouble getting her to let go of him when she got there. After we told her he was okay, she just walked away muttering about coffee."

Suspicion confirmed. Luke says, "Thank you, I'll find her. I can see him soon?"

The doctor nods. "Maybe in 30 minutes? They are doing some last checks just to make sure then he should probably rest for a bit. Lora is going to bring you our outline for antibiotic therapy. You'll be in the waiting room?"

Luke is tired of waiting. And it's only been two days. He's impatient for Jess to be well so that they both can go back to their bumpy, awkward equilibrium in their shared apartment ridden with fights. He'll argue with that dumb kid every day if he can just get better so they can go home. Luke is tired of the waiting room and the X-rays and the doctors and the estimates and the phone calls and the calculators. He's tired of the townspeople staring at him, none of them actually asking how Jess is doing, but overly willing to hurl out insults, fish for gossip, or loudly whisper about his nephew when his back is turned. He's tired of building then breaking down packing boxes because he doesn't know if he agrees with Jess or not. He's tired of being given options just to feel like he doesn't have any.

But he just nods to the doctor and goes to find Rory. Because she must be tired too. Of all of this. She and her mother are the only ones sharing this with him. Lorelai was at the diner when the hospital called that there was a complication with Jess's treatment. Though his presence wasn't required, Luke wanted to go, and Lorelai could tell. So she forced him out the door once again and promised to finish out the lunch shift in style. That woman.

Luke can see that Rory is sitting in the waiting room with a paper cup of coffee, steam rising from its dark surface. She is staring ahead as she leans on her knees, little sloshes of coffee spilling over the rim thanks to her trembling hand. The hot brown liquid doesn't seem to impact her fingers as it slips through them, like a cascade over rocks, into a puddle on the bland tile floor in front of her. It appears to be a fresh cup. _Maybe she couldn't drink any of the last one because it all spilled_ , Luke thinks as he surveys the mess. He gets a wad of napkins from next to the coffee machine and kneels in front of Rory, beginning to wipe up the puddle.

Rory whispers, "I'm sorry, Luke. I was going to get that."

Luke shakes his head and smiles. "No worries. How are you doing?"

"I hate seeing him like this," she says as she brings the coffee up to her lips, still looking straight ahead. Her face has drained of color, and the coffee has not revived it yet.

Luke nods, tossing the damp, stained wad of napkins into the bin, then taking a seat beside her. "I know it's hard on you."

"But why?" She asks, turning her gaze to Luke, her eyes formed into large, frightened, sapphire circles. Luke isn't sure if she's asking him or herself. "Why is it so hard on me?"

 _Because you care. Too much. For some unknown reason_ , Luke thinks, so in response, he just shrugs. "I don't know. That's on you."

Luke can see she is disappointed with his answer, or lack thereof, but he has no desire to amend or elaborate. She has to figure this out for herself. She asks, "How is he doing? They said he was okay, but…"

"I haven't seen him. He's resting right now. But you should come back tomorrow, see for yourself. He'll be in a new room."

"New room?"

"Yeah, they're taking him out of intensive care in the morning."

Luke sees the panic ring through her with a quick twitch of her brow, but she hastily tries to quiet it. After attempting recovery by clearing her throat, she asks cautiously, "Is that a good idea? I mean, with what happened today? Will they check on him a lot?"

Luke wants to laugh. She sounds just like he did no more than ten minutes ago. He answers, "Not as much. He'll be in the non-private rooms, in the other wing of the hospital."

She tightens her lips into a thin line then says knowingly, "He's going to hate that."

"I know." Luke tries to shrug it off, but he feels guilty for placing someone so obsessed with solidarity in a room with five other sick people. "The private rooms are more expensive."

Rory sighs at the subject, and Luke regrets bringing it up. She shouldn't have to deal with talk of finance. Then he remembers. Pulling the paper out of his pocket, he holds it out to her. She sets down her coffee on the table on her opposite side and hesitantly takes the check.

"What is this?" she murmurs, using her fingers to flip it around, then she gasps. She reads aloud, "To the order of Lorelai Gilmore, five hundred dollars? Memo: car? What?"

"He wanted you to have it. Thought you wouldn't take it if he gave it to you."

Rory is shaking her head in bewilderment. Luke knows the feeling. She stammers, "I…I don't - Where did he even get $500?"

"Had a job in New York."

She says, "I didn't think… I can't. I can't take this. No. It's not right."

The check is held in front of Luke's face for a few seconds before he says, "I agree with him on this one, Rory. Take the money. Put it towards a new car."

"It's not right," she repeats as she draws the slip towards her to examine again, like it might possibly be a ruse, a construction about to disintegrate in her hands. She stares at it and whispers, "It wasn't his fault."

"I know it wasn't," Luke says, just as he did when she told him that the first time while they drove here to the hospital yesterday morning. He goes on, "Nothing about this situation is fair, but you're going to college in a little over a year. You'll want a car to take home. Your mother will go nuts if you don't. And you know who's going to suffer for that? Me."

Rory chuckles. "She'll rant at you all day and all night while you refill her coffee."

A voice cuts in. "Mr. Danes?"

It takes a moment to register. Luke still isn't used to 'Mr. Danes'. Everyone in his life - except for Jess, that dumb kid - calls him Luke. Mr. Danes was his father. He stands at attention as Lora smiles. "Sorry to intrude. Are you ready to talk about the antibiotic therapy?"

Luke turns to the girl beside him and asks, "You're okay here?"

Rory nods. "My mom will be here soon. She said everything was good at the diner when she left."

"Okay. Tell her thank you."

"Sure." Beginning to walk away, leaving Rory with a $500 check in her hands, Luke revolves as he hears his name again. "And Luke? Tell Jess I don't think I can come tomorrow. There's something I have to do."

* * *

"You're kidding."

Luke is standing in Jess's hospital room a couple hours after Rory left. He had a short conversation with Lora about drug treatment and physical therapy, packed with terms he didn't understand and doesn't care to. Then he called the diner to make sure everything was running smoothly, worried about money, talked to the doctor again, worried about money, chatted with Lora, then worried about money some more. To give his forehead a break before it froze wrought with canyons, he came to Jess's room. Even though he was supposed to be resting, the kid was wide awake when he came in. He looks like hell. He could've been wide awake for the past week. There is a cold sheen of sickly sweat on his neck and dark circles under his eyes, but he looks better than Luke expected. When he went to bed yesterday, even after a day and a half of no sleep, he couldn't help but see Jess the way he was on the bridge. Hyperventilating. Bulging eyes. Pale skin. Blood droplets clinging to his lips. That image haunts Luke, and every time he sees Jess, he knows he's alright as long as he doesn't look like that. Luke walked to his room in a state of determination, each footstep pounding in energy and drive. He would find out what job Jess had in New York if it took him all day. He would discover what his nephew did to make $2500. It didn't take nearly as long as he predicted. Jess cracked after fifteen minutes of pressure. Weak and feverish, he relented saying, 'Fine, I'll tell you. I have a headache, and all your nagging is making it worse.' Weak, feverish, and physically unable to walk away from an argument with 'I am going out'.

Jess rolls his eyes when Luke repeats 'you're kidding' for the second time. "I regret this already. Wow, it's hot in here."

"You said it was cold five minutes ago," Luke points out.

"It was."

Luke crosses his arms. "Don't change the subject. You used to work in a general store?"

"Market on 16th."

Luke laughs again, rubs a hand over his stubble. "You realize how ironic this is, right?"

There is a click from the door. Lora walks in to give Jess more painkillers, and Luke stands aside, silent while Lora makes small talk. Luke is surprised by how Jess obliges her in answering her questions; it seems he has found another person he likes. That makes two and a half. Luke doesn't participate in the conversation, merely stares at his nephew with an unrestrained smirk. It isn't often that he gets to have the upperhand and full mocking rights. As Jess takes his drugs, he looks scornfully at his uncle who is inflating with barely-contained laughter.

As soon as Lora leaves the room, Luke bursts, "It's too ironic! You give Dean so much crap for working at Doose's, yet here you are!"

"Was," Jess corrects. "There I was. Old job."

Luke puts his hands on his hips with his head held high. This new information has rejuvenated him, reminded him that genuine amusement still exists. "Sure. Does Taylor know about your shelf stocking abilities? You could be a valuable asset to the team. You and Dean would be pals in a week."

Jess just glares now, not bothering to retort. Luke takes the opportunity to throw in, "You can bag the goods then hold hands and skip afterwards."

"I despise you," Jess mutters as he tilts his head back, dropping it like a dead weight onto the pillow.

"Thanks, you're not bad yourself. Does Rory know? She and her boyfriend will be thrilled."

Jess doesn't avert his gaze from the ceiling. "She doesn't know."

"Well, I won't tell her. You'll probably have to. She asked where you got the money when I gave her the check."

Jess hesitates, then mumbles, "Thanks."

"What was that again?" Luke cups a hand to his ear. He hasn't been in this good a mood in days. He'll drag it out if he can.

Jess repeats a little louder, "Thank you. For giving Rory the money and making sure she kept it."

Luke gives him one affirmative, exaggerated nod. "You're welcome, stockboy nephew of mine. Feels good to be appreciated."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter X

"You know we have to talk about this, right?"

Lorelai leans against the bedroom door while while she watches Rory type away on her computer at her desk, surprisingly fast for only using one hand. She decides to confront the issue head-on instead of leading up with an anecdote or a joke. She wishes Chris was here, though it's been a mere 24 hours since he left, and that sentiment is messing with her head, weighing her down. He is with Sherry, Lorelai must remind herself almost constantly, and she doesn't have the right to miss him.

Rory stops after a few more words, finishing the sentence in a satisfied flourish of quickly-pressed keys. She swiftly swirls around in her chair, as though the denim on her jeans were fake, replaced by a slippery silk look-alike. She asks, "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." Lorelai pushes away from the doorframe and walks in to plop onto the bed. Discussion spot. "We need to talk about the accident. And Dean, and Luke. We have to talk about Jess."

"What more is there to say? I thought you weren't angry with Jess anymore."

Lorelai shakes her head quickly. How many times does she have to say it? And why isn't Chris here to back her up? "I'm not so angry with Jess about the accident. I know what happened wasn't his fault," she reiterates, thinking, _But you can't go from anti-Christ to saint in a day_. "What I need explained is you visiting him yesterday and today, and apparently every day after school, as you casually told me on your way out the door?"

"I want to visit the hospital after school," Rory re-states helpfully.

"I heard you the first time, but why?"

Rory sighs. "I don't want him to be alone in there. And… I guess I'm scared. I overheard some gossip last night before the movie. Babette and Patty were saying that Luke is sending Jess away. Back to New York."

Though the thought of Jess leaving isn't exactly a cacophony to her ears, Lorelai snorts. Banking one's schedule on the two town gossips is not the smartest move, and Rory is more intelligent than that. "And you believed them? I dropped two oranges outside the market and the next day, Babette gave condolences for my two dozen runaway citrus fruits."

Rory ignores the anecdote. "Mom, what if Jess actually is leaving?"

"Then he can tell you himself. Don't listen to Patty and Babette. And don't bring it up to him. It's his information to share."

"But-"

Lorelai cuts her off with a tilt of her head. "Do you care that much? Rory, I get it, you guys are friends. But _how_ are you friends? It throws me for a loop every time."

"I don't know," Rory admits as she gets up from her chair, getting onto the bed to lay back. She crashes onto the mattress, the reverberations bouncing Lorelai up and down. "I don't know. It just happened. We have stuff in common."

"What, you both like books? Rory, the kid steals and smokes and pulls pranks. What exactly do you have in common?" Though she doesn't want to start this argument again, she can't help it. She needs to figure this out.

Rory groans at the insults, fact-based that they are. "Look, I don't exactly get it either. We have conversations. He keeps up with me, and I keep up with him. Not helping, I know. But he's my friend and I care about him and if he leaves, I'm going to get sad about it, and you're going to let me!"

Lorelai releases a small whistle and mutters, "I'll supply chocolate."

"Thank you!"

She eases onto the next one. "And Dean? Does Dean not keep up with you?"

"Of course Dean keeps up with me. We don't have the same stuff in common, but there is other stuff. Dean is awesome, you know this."

Though she isn't sure exactly what 'keeping up' means, Lorelai doesn't file a request for Rory's dictionary of relationship definitions. She just affirms, "Yes, I love Dean, but what matters is that you love Dean. And lately, I think he's been questioning that, and maybe you are too."

She doesn't just think he's been questioning it. She _knows_ he's been questioning it. When she came home late that night to find Dean on her porch steps, Lorelai wanted to retreat back to her Jeep and drive around aimlessly until he left. She saw his face and knew what he was thinking before she reached him. When he asked her, she didn't deny it because she couldn't, no matter how much she wanted to. When he shifted his gaze to hers, she saw the pain he was in, the anger raging through him, as he dared her with his eyes to say no. She desired to say something, to comfort him, but what could she say? She'd told him Rory wouldn't lie, but now that her daughter had been lying to herself and to him, Dean knew Lorelai wouldn't do the same. So she just stared on in silence, while he slowly lifted himself up from the steps to wander off into the dark, lost even though he knew exactly where he was going.

Just as Lorelai predicts, "What, because of Jess? That's ridiculous."

She sighs and shakes her head. _This_ is ridiculous. Was that even a refusal? "Alright, sweets, I won't argue with you about this. Think about it, though. You and Dean need to treat each other well, and that's all I have to say about it. Next. Luke."

"I know. I have an idea, actually. I'm not sure how you're going to feel about it…" Rory says, stretching her fingertips into the gap between her arm and cast, trying to scratch the isolated skin with her nails. Her mother slaps her hand away.

"This is about the money?" Lorelai asks as her daughter immediately returns her efforts to the itch.

"Yes."

"Good because I'm drawing a blank."

Rory begins, "There's a town meeting tomorrow."

They spend the rest of the evening debating and considering and calculating, with Rory making several drafts of pro-con lists. There is a mass amount of junk food involved, as well as pizza delivery. The mother finds her distraction from the man who walked away, the father of her child. The man who learned to grow up, just not with her. The daughter indulges her attention on the person in whom she invests more of herself with each passing day, forgetting the boy who won her heart before she learned how to listen to it.

* * *

"You know we have to talk about this, right?"

Jess shrugs with his eyes cast down on _Old Man and the Sea_. Luke has just been watching him read for the last half an hour or so, letting himself descend from the peak of triumph he reached when he coaxed out Jess's job confession. He'll occasionally flip the page of his _Boating World_ magazine, but focusing is hard when one is so elated with victorious content. His nephew would set the book down every few minutes, leaning back to shut his eyes, trying to shoo the headache away so he could continue through the story. It is the slowest Luke has ever seen him read anything, and it is hard to watch. Books are the only thing the kid likes, and probably the only thing that keeps him sane. Books and the person with whom he discusses them.

Finally at the bottom of his mountain of satisfaction, Luke proceeds to the next destination and confronts the topic as calmly as he can. "Book, down. Now."

Jess keeps reading, and Luke groans, the patience departing much faster than it arrived. "Really? You're just going to leave me a note 'Bye, I'm going back to New York' and that's that? I almost started packing up all your worthless crap, then thought better of it. _You_ should pack up all your worthless crap, _you_ should call your mother, but before that, you should talk to me about it!"

"Having an aneurysm over there, Uncle Luke?" Jess asks cheekily as he lowers the book to his lap. Luke sees the margins are filled in with scribbled notes and annotations, making a border of ink around the paragraphs.

Luke ignores the unwarranted title and asks, "Is this really what you want?"

"I thought it's what you would want," Jess says with another bump of his shoulder, bringing the book back into view. "Come on. I don't belong here, and I don't want anyone's pity. If I weren't in a hospital bed, don't you think I'd be back in the city by now? Lorelai would've made sure of it."

At the mention of her name, Luke flinches. Suddenly, it hits him harder than the 11 o'clock rush on Sunday. He can hear her voice in his head from two nights ago, yelling at him.

 _Why did you do this? … If you hadn't brought him here, none of this would've happened._

He stares at the floor, as if holes would appear from the strength of his gaze. Then he would drop himself into one of them, so he could forget his nephew, and Lorelai, and the hospital, and the money. But the Lorelai of two nights ago doesn't stop taunting him.

 _Everybody hated him. Everybody knew he was trouble but you wouldn't listen and you wouldn't send him home and now my daughter is in the hospital._

An image of Rory flashes through Luke's mind. Jesus, he loves that little girl. She's still so small and innocent in his eyes; she always will be. He imagines her cradling her fractured wrist, hidden from air and daylight in that cast.

 _But you thought Rory would be good for Jess, never mind what he'd be for her. That wasn't important at all, was it?_

Luke adores Rory, and he suspects Jess is starting to as well. Their friendship isn't toxic; he's seen that for himself. Their relationship isn't broken; it's the only bond Jess hasn't severed in this town besides the one with him, try as he might. That's right. Jess isn't the best kid, but Rory has enough character to choose who her friends are. As much as Luke still sees her as a child on a playground, at least he trusts her to pick out her own playmates. And if one of them happens to be his screw-up, sarcastic, stupidly intelligent nephew, then so be it. Just as he is resolving this, post-accident Lorelai fights him one more time. Even though current Lorelai apologized for what she said Friday night, admitted that she'd been wrong, that doesn't mean she hadn't meant it. That doesn't mean it isn't exactly what the rest of Stars Hollow is thinking, what they haven't had the opportunity to say to his face.

 _You had an obligation to this town and to me and to Rory._

Luke values family; he always has. He doesn't want to turn his back on Jess, but family isn't just about blood. Lorelai told him that he is like family to her, and Luke imagines that if he had a daughter, he'd want her to be something like Rory. Liz left years ago, as soon as she was old enough, and his father is dead. Damn, he misses him. His father loved this town, and he ingrained that passion into his son, no matter how eccentric and deranged the other citizens happen to be. He does have an obligation to them, and he has an obligation to Jess. To protect them from one another. The rest of his blood has left Stars Hollow, or has left this life. Maybe it's for the best if Jess does the same, before the people of Stars Hollow hunt him down, or before his nephew is in a hole even Luke can't drag him out of and figure out how to patch.

* * *

"You know we have to talk about this, right?"

Luke paces back and forth behind the counter. "We are talking about it, Liz. I'm giving you a heads-up."

"A heads-up? Come on! You can't just ship him back here!"

Luke returns to the register and starts to recount the one dollar bills in the drawer. Multi-tasking is one of his strong suits, but the anger in his sister's voice is like pouring wine into a simmering sauce, making it all he can focus on as the flames erupt. He fires back, "What, like you shipped him to me five months ago?! At least I'm giving the kid a choice!"

"You call this a choice? You're sending him away because of the accident! Because the town is mad at him! He's your nephew!"

Luke slams the register closed. "He's your son!"

"And I don't know how to be a good mother to him," Liz whimpers, and Luke can hear her take those quick inhales that inflict her when she is about to cry. "I thought you could help him, Luke. Fix… something, I don't know. You've always been able to fix it."

Luke sighs. And he has always been defenseless against his sister's tears, ever since they were children. Disappointing her, not being there for her, being incapable of protecting her - it's a fear of his. "I can't fix this one, Liz. I'm sorry. I tried. I really did."

"You said he was doing better!" She exclaims, and it's true. When Luke called Friday night to explain the accident, Liz froze the conversation for five minutes. She was in shock that Jess, her son Jess, with almost as many suspensions under his belt as years of his life, was studying on a weekend night with a girl who attended private school. Private school, for god's sake.

He sighs and replies, "He was. Is. But Jess doesn't belong here, never has. And the townspeople have wanted him gone for months. Now they have a reason."

Liz chuckles dryly. "I can't believe this. You know the kid is messed up when my saint of a brother is sending him away."

"I'm no saint. Liz… tell me, why did you send Jess away?" Luke can remember it clearly. It was a week or two after Jess's arrival, and he caught him after school to confront him on stealing the bridge money. It resulted in Jess yelling at him, accusing him of taking him away from his home and his friends, with a shove in the lake following suit. If that accusation has ground, then Luke should at least know why.

"Big Brother… you said no questions asked."

"He's not going to be my responsibility anymore. After all the crap I've put up with, after everything he's done since he got here, don't you think I have the right to know why I find myself in that position in the first place?!" Luke's voice sounds harsher than he intended, louder than he meant. It's like playing a song on speaker then suddenly rotating the volume dial to maximum.

"It wasn't just one thing. He'd come home late, he'd never tell me where he was, he'd get into fights at school. And I was dating Harry at the time, fun guy but it didn't work out. He liked to party too much, and he had a weird fascination with tambourines. Anyhow, Harry and Jess didn't like each other. After a really bad fight with Harry, that's when I called you."

"You made him leave New York because he didn't like your boyfriend?"

"Please. Jess never likes any of the guys I'm dating. Yes, some of them weren't right and they didn't treat him well, but others weren't so bad."

"Did it get physical? With any of them?"

Liz hesitates for a moment, and Luke think he hears her inhale reverberating from the interior of a wine glass. "Sure, but it never got out of hand. That last fight is the worst I've seen, and no one ever gets too hurt. Jess has never told me any different."

"Okay, I just don't want him going back somewhere that isn't safe," Luke says, though Liz's answer effectively sowed a pit of doubt in his stomach. There would always be another boyfriend, and cities are stocked with threats in themselves.

"You care enough for that, but you won't keep him in Stars Hollow?" Liz grasps at the rope Luke lowered without intending to.

"I don't have a choice here!"

Liz protests one more time, "But if he could just finish out the school year… When he gets here, he's not going to want to go to school. He could drop out."

"Don't let him drop out. Whatever you do, he has to go to school." Luke won't let all of this be for nothing. His nephew deserves an education, high school at the minimum, but he'd make it in college, in the way that Luke and Liz never could.

"Since when has he ever listened to me?" Liz asks with a small chuckle.

Luke swallows, knowing he may be overstepping, taking on a responsibility that would no longer be his. "Just get him on the phone with me when he gets there. He'll listen to me. And if it comes to it, I'll drive up there myself and drag his limping ass through the front doors."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter XI

Rory exits the bank with a glance around, as though she were a character in a mystery film. She feels uncomfortable carrying this much money on her, though the crime rate in Stars Hollow is extremely low. The recent spike this year are all minor complaints filed by Taylor, most of them involving the 'town hoodlum'.

Her tights are itching more than usual today, just like her arm under the heavy cast. She told the story to Paris, Madeleine, and Louise. Paris just rolled her eyes while Madeleine and Louise discussed how difficult it must be to style her hair and strap on her heels. As hard as Rory tried and as much as she enjoys her classes, concentration was not on her side today. Her mind came along for the ride at the beginning of class with the start of the French Revolution, but soon enough Marie Antoinette was executed and her brain was left with a large gap, having hopped off the learning wagon long ago. Though Rory could easily fill that gap with her own knowledge, that is not the point. Unfortunately, school was not her priority today. She has a plan, and it is scaring her that she is actually going to go through with it. A two-stage blueprint for the evening. Stage One. Dean. Letter. Stage Two. Town Meeting.

She gets home in time for Lane to call gushing about her new passion for drums. Though Rory is trying to be supportive, she is distracted by the sure knowledge that the Kims never come to town meetings. Maybe if Lane were there, Rory would find it easier to be brave.

* * *

Rory considers crumpling up the letter. Burning it. Tearing it to shreds. Sicking a troop of termites on it. None of these options are possible, since the car pulls in front of the Forrester house. Sitting on the porch steps, Rory almost shoves the note into her jacket, or through the slits of the porch slabs, or in her shirt to take cover between her non-existent breasts. Instead, she stands as Dean climbs out of the passenger side.

"Hey," he says as he comes forward, opening his arms for an embrace. Rory knows her expression is flooded with anxiety, and seeing it, he tries to recover by shoving his hands in his pants pockets.

"Hey," she goes as Dean's dad and Clara greet her on their way to the door.

Then Dean's gaze drops to her left arm. "What happened? What'd you do to your arm?"

 _I tripped. I was walking on some stairs. There was water. I tripped. I fell. That's it. People will tell you otherwise. Don't listen to them. I tripped, okay?_ Rory's desperation forges itself into a ridiculous excuse, but the inevitability of it all knocks it over with a tiny gust of rationale. It collapses into pieces, since it was filled with holes from the start.

Rory gives him the letter. "Here."

After a small exchange, Rory gets him to open the letter. Operation in motion. Stage One. Before he can start reading and fulfill her wishes, she says, "Wait. Read it out loud."

"Why?"

Rory bites her lip. "Just… do it."

"Okay… _Dear Dean… First of all, you know that I love you._ Well, I love you too."

Rory nods encouragingly while trying to smile. "Go on."

"Uh… _I have something important to tell you that are not going to like, but keep in mind that I really care about you. That's why I want you to hear it from me._ Oh no. What did you do?"

"Keep going."

" _On Friday night after dinner with the grandparents, I went over to the diner to help Jess study._ What? Why?" Rory prods and he continues, " _Luke begged me to be Jess's tutor and threw in free snacks, so I was doing him a favor._ _We took a study break to get ice cream because Luke doesn't have cones at the diner._ What?"

"Read." Here it comes.

Dean sighs. " _Jess was driving so I could read him Othello._ What?"

"You have about three more whats ahead of you."

Dean is speed-reading now, the words blending together in his voice, like too many paperbacks squeezed onto one shelf. " _On the way back, an animal ran in front of the car and Jess swerved. I don't know what it was, it came out so quickly. We ran into the bench and pole by Doose's. I hit my arm on the dashboard and fractured my wrist. It barely hurts, and I only have to wear the cast for two weeks. Jess is still at the hospital, and I have seen him there. The car is totalled._ "

Dean hasn't finished the letter, but he looks up long enough to kick his duffel bag. It flies a few feet across the pavement. His jaw is jutting out from the bottom, pushing his mouth into a tense scowl. Dean is clutching the paper so tightly in his hand, Rory expects he'll crumple it into a ball and burn it, then drop the ashes in a canister to the bottom of the lake. Instead, he looks down and keeps reading, " _I'm very sorry since I know you put a lot into building that car for me. I will miss it._ _Please don't be angry with me or Jess. It was an accident, and I'm sorry you had to come home to this._ "

As Dean completes the letter, Rory feels disappointed. She asked Dean to read it aloud so that she could hear it that way, as Jess heard it the day before. She wanted the words to reach her ears as they'd reached his, see if she could interpret what he did, know how he felt while she was reading it to him. It didn't help, though. Instead, she is just watching Dean fume.

"Where is he?" Dean demands.

Rory answers hesitantly, "At-at the hospital. Dean-"

"I'm going to kill him," he grumbles as he folds the letter back up messily, not following the lines already creased into the paper.

Rory shakes her head. She says again, as if it explains everything, helps anything, "He's at the hospital!"

"Well, he put himself there, didn't he? And he put you there! Look at your arm!" Dean gestures to her arm as Rory recoils away from him, though she admits now that he has every right to think this. Unlike the rest of the citizens of Stars Hollow, Dean can blame Jess without Rory deciding he's being unreasonable, even though she wishes differently. She- his girlfriend- in a car, which he built for her, with Jess - the guy he despises and warned her to stay away from- that crashed into the bench in front of the market, where he works.

She whispers, "It was an accident…"

"And why was he driving your car? The car that I-" Dean cuts himself off with a simultaneous clench of his teeth and fist.

"I know you're upset," Rory says genuinely. "I would be too. I'm so sorry about the car."

Dean shakes his head as he holds the letter back out to her. She takes it with trembling fingers. He says, "It's not your fault. It's his. We'll talk about this more later, okay? I'm tired and dinner is in a few. I'm just glad that you're alright."

Rory nods gratefully. She wants to defend Jess to him, but she doesn't have it in her right now. She has a much bigger audience to attend to. She wants to let out a sigh of relief, but decides on holding it in until she leaves, to make sure she is truly in the clear. "Thank you."

"Do you want to come in? My mom is making roast for dinner."

 _Roast? I just told you Jess and I got into a crash late on a weekend night in the car that you built, and you want me to sit with your family and eat roast?_ Astonished at the offer, Rory takes a moment before shaking her head. "I can't. I have to go to the town meeting. Thanks, though. I'll see you tomorrow?"

After Dean kisses her goodnight, Rory starts off for the Town Square. Once she has walked about ten feet, Dean calls out to her. As she twists around, he says, "I want him gone. I know you can't control that, but I want him gone."

Rory doesn't say anything, just bites her lip and heads out of the neighborhood, leaving him standing under the light of the streetlamp. How could she respond to that? It hadn't been pretty, but Stage One went much better than she expected. And… Dean may get his wish without lifting a finger.

With the thirty minutes before the town meeting, Rory walks to the bridge. As her sneaker-clad foot presses onto the wood, she is cast back to that day like the bait stuck to the hook on a fishing line. She doesn't have a choice; she is hurdling outward, plunging into the water of her own memory.

The sun is shining, the sky containing few clouds, as if the weather was trying to compensate for the convoluted situation in which she found herself. The dark water of the lake reflecting her image back to her, a wavering silk colored green by algae. She's sitting cross-legged near the edge, wearing her blue jacket and a headband. A little to the left in the reflection is the basket she made for her boyfriend, small and containing disgusting leftovers, a symbol of tradition and sentiment rather than effort and cuisine. Then his left ankle comes into view, covered by dark pants, not bandages. It's him, sitting across from her with his leg dropped lazily over the edge of the bridge, facing her with only the basket separating them. There, it's his oversized yellow-tan jacket reflected in the ripples of the water. His voice is echoing in her ears just like the circular successions on the lake surface. 'Ayn Rand is a political nut.'

Rory's jaw begins to hurt, and she realizes it's because she's been smiling widely for the past several minutes, just thinking about that day. She's thought about it more often than she'd admit to anyone, and it always comes back to sitting on the bridge with Jess and the pizza they got together afterwards. Then they wandered the bookstore together, Jess and Rory taking separate aisles, making recommendations over the shelves. Every now and then, she would look up at him over the volumes, and then his dark eyes catch hers staring. There was something in them, something she couldn't quite place. Jess left with only one less book than Rory did, which is impressive on all accounts.

Despite Dean's embarrassment and fury, Rory looks back on the basket contest with nothing short of happy reminiscence. That day started something, though Rory doesn't know what, and the Jess on the bridge across from her is the one she wants to know. She's going to face it all tonight so that he can return to the way he was then. Healthy, dressed in clothes that are oddly tight or oddly loose, with strong ankles and lungs. And when people offer their doubts, she'll remember him as he was then, the only other member in their unofficial book club duo.

Her mother said she was being blind, selectively blind, to all the wrongs Jess has committed, all the damage he has caused. She is wrong, though. Rory knows what he's done. She's heard it all. She doesn't agree with what he's done, or why he's done it, and she doesn't have to. Because seeing the good in other people doesn't mean the bad isn't there, in the clear line of sight. It means that the good matters more than the bad, especially with people like Jess, for whom there's no keeping score of positive v. negative qualities. Rory is a fan of tally mark systems, but she doesn't want to count the lines with him. She doesn't want to write it down because the results would frighten her. A pro-con list would prove to her what she'd prefer not to admit- that her relationship with Jess is not a beneficial asset to her life. But she can't think that way, not with him. She would just come back to that day above the water, no matter how hard she tries, and throw the list in the bin.

As she strolls across the bridge, she sees a couple spots on one of the planks. She kneels down trying to see under the light of the moon, and three small red blotches are illuminated on the wood. Blood. Rory knows where it came from. Luke said he found Jess on the bridge Friday night. That afternoon, she took the liberty of searching for resources on pneumothorax injuries in the Chilton library. Shortness of breath, chest pain, coughing up blood, all symptoms. She read for the entire lunch period, allowing her friend's case to become one among the statistics. Easier that way.

Rory stands up from her crouched position on the bridge, turning around to head to Miss Patty's dance studio. She won't back out now. The blood served as a reminder, a post-it note from her conscience hung conveniently on the refrigerator. No, it was a communication from Jess, sitting in an overcrowded room in a Hartford Memorial Hospital, received in what Rory considers to be 'his place' in Stars Hollow, if he has one. When she closes her eyes and thinks about him, he's sitting on that bridge across from her telling her that he can't bear _The Fountainhead_.


	12. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

Hi, readers. Thanks for your support on this story. This is a heads-up that I am going on a four-month trip in Africa, so the updates will be infrequent or completely stop, depending on how much time I have or my Internet access. Please follow me or the story so you can keep up with when I update. Hopefully that notification won't come in four months, but who knows. I will try to post a couple more chapters before I leave in a week. Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. Your comments and support are why I continue, so I appreciate all of you and keep on keeping on.

Deuces!


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter XII

The meeting begins with Taylor shouting at everyone to quiet down, as usual. Rory sits fidgeting next to Lorelai in her fold-up chair, and her mother's palm comes to rest reassuringly on her knee. Then Lorelai wrenches away the large coin envelope clutched tightly in Rory's right hand, before the wrinkles emerging from her anxious grip consume the entire thing. Now Rory feels how her hands are empty, and her mother's hold both the envelope and the large glass jar.

The first order of business is a new sign for the bookstore. Andrew protests from the back that the sign is perfectly sufficient, but Taylor argues that tourists will not want to enter the shop with such advertisement. He takes the opportunity to comment that it is not false advertising, since the inside of the store is as dingy as its sign, but customers should be able to see that for themselves. If the bookstore were better organized, like Doose's Market perhaps, Taylor suggests wryly. Rory wants to stand up and contribute on this point, but her throat feels dry and hollow. Actually, the physical organization of the store is fine, but the catalog system is what needs adjusting. Her suggestion sinks into the pit of her stomach, though, and Taylor continues on.

The next order of business is the bench and pole outside of Doose's. The bench is completely destroyed, obliterated in fact, Taylor proclaims ruefully. Miss Patty asks why they should care about his bench, and he announces that it is for the benefit of the town if a fund is started to replace it. Many chuckle at the idea, but Rory could not be less amused. Taylor tries to argue that since unfortunately, the good-for-nothing punk who mowed down his bench will not be offering compensation, something has to be done.

Finally, after the bench replacement initiative fails, Taylor announces that Miss Rory Gilmore is going to speak next about an undisclosed topic. She went to the market before school to ask Taylor if she could speak at the meeting, and while it was 'certainly last-minute', he was sure he could 'squeeze her in'. Now, it certainly feels like she is being squeezed in, like the air is thickening into walls that are pressing in on her from all sides. Slowly, she rises from her seat, feeling the envelope being wedged back into her hand by Lorelai. She takes the glass jar and holds it against her hip. Her knees threaten to buckle under her, but she quiets them by taking the few steps out into the aisle. As she moves up to the stage, she can hear whispers, catching snippets like 'Poor Rory' and 'hospital' and 'cast' and a handful of unpleasant nicknames for Jess. All the miniature discussions slam to a halt when she finally reaches the microphone. She opens her mouth, and a cracking "I-" comes out with no other words following, and the awful noise reverberates through the studio. Rory swallows, and the microphone seems to pick that up too. Then, she begins to relay -recite actually - the speech she has been planning since the evening before, stopping just short of writing a script. Her own voice sounds foreign to her ears.

"Good evening, everybody. I promise not to take up too much of your time. As I'm guessing you all know, I got into a car accident a couple days ago. Hence, the discussion of the Doose's Market bench. Anywho, I was in my car with Jess, Luke's nephew. I'm sure you guys know him."

A wave of discontented grumbles responds, as if to say, 'How could we not?'

Rory takes a deep breath before continuing, "Jess is still at the hospital in Hartford, and he's going to be there for the next few days. He's… really hurt, which is why he has to stay there so long. I know what all of you are going to say, what you've already been saying. But I need you to believe me when I tell you that it wasn't his fault. Even if you can't accept that, then at least accept that he doesn't deserve to be in the hospital."

She stops and sees Lorelai nod at her to continue. When she surveys the room, she observes a couple of other nods as well. "I'm up here tonight because I have something to ask of you. The hospital bills are piling up, and Luke is going to go into debt. I need your help. All of you. If all of us chip in, even just $5 or $10 or $20, we can do it. I don't have the exact number, but it's big. Jess needs our help. _Luke_ needs our help."

Rory cradles the jar in her arm, holding it on display. Its title is in huge black letters with puffy paint and stickers to embolden the appearance. "This is the Jess Jar. It's going to be at Luke's 24/7 next to the register, so if you get food from there, give a little extra thanks. The diner has given us awesome food for years, so tip your server and throw in a bit more for Jess when you pay at the front. You can do other cash and checks too, in person or by mail, whatever works."

At Rory's pause, whispers and conversations buzz throughout the room, creating vibrations in Rory's ears like a fly only inches away. She clears her throat and says, "As we speak, Jess is in the hospital in a non-private room. If I know anything about him, it's that he's miserable sharing a room with sick people, unable to escape. If we start this tonight, he can move to a private room and be comfortable. Luke will visit and not feel awkward. _I_ can visit and not feel awkward."

Most of the attendees continue to look doubtful, exactly what Rory feared. Their downturned lips and furrowed brows are nudging Rory towards the next part of her speech, her next plea. "I know you don't want to help Jess. I know you think he doesn't deserve it, but… Do it for Luke. He's one of us, and he is the most loyal, stand-up person in this town. You don't have to like Jess. You can hate him forever and name a tornado after him, but think about Luke. He's in need, and I can't ignore that. I have an obligation to Luke. We _all_ have an obligation to Luke. And Luke has an obligation to Jess, so let's do the right thing."

Rory hears a small gasp, and realizes that it came from Lorelai. She doesn't know why she sounds surprised; maybe Rory switched up the words too much. After a quick swing of her gaze around the room, she looks down because she can't bear the indignant, silent resistance on the faces of her fellow townspeople. That was supposed to be the end of it, but no one is making a move, saying a word. Pulling out the five hundred dollars, just cashed that afternoon, Rory feels tears coming to her eyes. This is Jess's money, and he gave it to her, his earnings from some job in New York. Where he could be returning. Any day now. Just the idea ties her stomach into knots, pushes a couple of the droplets out of her eyes. Dean, her parents, Babette, Miss Patty, Taylor, this town… they're wrong about him. They don't know him. How much does she know him? What if she won't have the chance? The five Benjamins are staring up at her, as if to encourage her but only succeeding in stirring up her desperation. She whips her neck up, and feeling the tears trickling down her cheeks, she whispers into the microphone, "Please, I can't do this by myself."

Amidst the sympathetic faces and nodding heads and uncomfortable shifts, Lorelai rises suddenly, declaring, "I'll help."

She strides onto the stage to sling an arm around her daughter. While Rory wipes away at the water on her cheeks, Lorelai announces, "Rory is putting in $500 and I'm putting in $50. You can add tonight's contributions in this envelope here. Our overall goal is $5000, maybe more, and I've seen this town spend double on some festival for some holiday whose origins no one knows. Except Taylor. We can do this, people! Let's help Luke! Either that or we can pay for a new Doose's bench."

She slips her check into the envelope, and Rory's bills follow close behind. As Rory descends the stage, there are already people approaching. Maybe she got through to them. Maybe they need a cause.

Meanwhile, Lorelai continues to make announcements into the microphone, "Cash and check are accepted. Please make all checks out to Lucas Danes. Tell your friends and family and neighbors. Bring all contributions to us or Luke, but he is usually busy at the hospital. And don't forget to throw your change into the Jess Jar when you're at the diner!"

Lorelai's voice continues in the background with more logistics, putting her business classes to use, but Rory is too shocked to keep listening. People are helping. People are dropping in bills and writing checks, right in front of her eyes. $20 from Babette and Mory, since she 'gave such a good speech, tutz, even though we don't like that New Yorker'. $15 from Miss Patty, as Luke's debt-ridden wrath is a force to be reckoned with. $30 from Andrew, who admits to having conversations with Jess at the bookstore, most recently a debate over _War and Peace_ v. _Anna Karenina_. Rory herself is stuck with that one, though she has an inkling of which side Jess was on. Marie the bank teller drops in a $10 bill, citing Luke's hatred of banks and loans, with which she would come face to face if this doesn't work. Each of the town elders write checks of varying amounts, none of them dropping below $20. 'We knew his father. Luke has spent too much of his life with a loved one in the hospital,' said one of them before sliding in the collection of slips. Rory manages to coax $5 from Taylor and $2 from Kirk by widening her eyes and dropping her lips into a pout. Both submit their contributions begrudgingly.

Rory and Lorelai exit the studio with a less-flat envelope, though it could not be called plump. There is still time, though. Lorelai essentially guaranteed that the word would be spread. Checks could be arriving on their doorstep and in Luke's box for days. This is definitely a start, and though neither of the Gilmores counted its contents, the envelope should contain enough to fund the Great Mariano Escape from Hartford Memorial Hospital's public sector.

As they approach the diner, Rory can see through the windows to Luke. He is standing in the dim light, wiping off the counter. She knows he is not actually paying attention as he continues to clean the same small area during their entire approach. Lorelai does not hesitate in opening the door despite its Closed sign, and Rory follows a small distance behind. Luke's tired eyes meets theirs when he looks up at the sound of the bell. He seems to have aged a decade since Friday, with crevices and grey hairs appearing in places Rory doesn't remember them being before.

All Rory says when she hands him the envelope, watching him undo the clasp, is: "I want him to have his own room."

* * *

After seeing the Gilmores off to Luke's Diner, the townspeople circle back into the dance studio. Babette and Mory, who pretended to leave with Rory and Lorelai, re-enter in conversation with Bootsy, followed by Marie and Fran. Taylor re-assumes his position at the podium while Miss Patty begrudgingly plops down into her seat once again.

"Well, everyone, that was rather unexpected. Thank you for returning for the post-meeting town meeting. As promised this should not last longer than 15 minutes."

Kirk stands abruptly as if a fire were suddenly lit under his chair. Taylor sighs. "Yes, Kirk?"

"Why are we having a post-meeting?"

"As agreed, Kirk," Taylor reminds condescendingly, "there is a post-meeting to discuss Friday night's accident in the absence of Lorelai Gilmore, Rory Gilmore, and Luke Danes."

Kirk allows, "You may proceed, Taylor."

"As I was saying, we all know about the accident and what caused it. Or who caused it, rather. Now, this whole fundraiser business was not anticipated, but I say that we move forward with the town request to Luke to send that hoodlum back to New York."

Patty asks from her seat beside the podium, "Is this necessary, Taylor? I'm sure Luke knows how everyone feels about it."

He answers, "Yes, it's necessary. It is always best to have these things on paper, along with our list of complaints."

Andrew stands and says, "Have a heart, Taylor. The kid is in the hospital, and Luke needs help with the bills."

The town selectman responds, "And we can help _Luke_ with the bills. It is a noble cause, and it will make Rory feel better about the whole incident. We help him with the bills, then he can get that street-rat out the hospital and back to the big city."

Taylor picks up a small paper from the podium and reads, "He crashed my bench, stole the bridge money - is someone getting this? - rearranged half the aisles in my market, not to mention the dead body."

"The outline of a dead body," Patty drolls, then adds on. "He tossed at least 1000 marbles onto the floor of my studio a few months ago."

Babette says, "He took Pierpont from my garden."

"He replaced _Dumbo_ with… _Showgirls_ at the video store," Kirk tosses out.

Someone else calls out, "He stole all the baseballs from the school. My kid is on the team!"

"And he got into a fight with my kid!"

Following that, "I think he threw the snowman contest!"

"He stole my gardening tools!"

 _He stole a lot more than that_ , he thinks. He stands in the corner with his arms crossed, clutching the cuffs of his sweater in his fists. Blurred into the shadows, he wishes he could fade away completely so he could forget the look on her face when she begged for him, shed tears for him. Sacrificed for him. For the person he despises the most.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter XIII

"You two are something else," Luke says as he hangs up the phone. "They're moving him first thing in the morning."

Lorelai grins as she raises the coffee cup to her lips, gives a glance to the Jess Jar at its new home next to the register. Rory left a while ago to head home, being a school night and all. From her perch at the counter, she can see Luke taking his time now to sort out the checks and bills, totalling the sum a second time while he shakes his head in amazement and mild discomfort.

"Something else, hmm? In the best way possible," she replies.

He echoes, "In the best way possible. Are you sure this is okay?"

Lorelai finds the vulnerability and concern in his blue eyes that she had seen in her daughter's, when she was standing up on that stage. "For the third time, Luke, it is more than okay. They did it for you. And no need to thank us again either."

The skimming sound of paper against paper comes to a halt. Lorelai swallows a large gulp of coffee too quickly when Luke holds up the five Benjamins. She begins to cough while he asks solemnly, "What is this?"

Lorelai keeps coughing, and Luke slams a cup of water in front of her, yelling, "Damn it, Lorelai! This was for Rory's car!"

After her throat takes in half of the glass gratefully, she lowers it and says, "I know that! But it's her money, and I can't decide what she does with it. Well, technically, it was Jess's money that became Rory's money so I guess he's helping himself."

Luke shakes his head, pushing the $500 across the counter to her. "Jess tried to give me money too. I didn't want it."

"Why not?" Lorelai demands after the initial shock, letting the cash rest on the counter. Now he's just trying to make things harder on himself. The punk is attempting to think of others for once, and Luke is discouraging that?

"Because I'm not going to take $2000 from my nephew when he could spend it on college!"

Lorelai scoffs. "Jess at college? C'mon, Luke. Be realistic."

"I know, I know. But he could do it. He's smart enough."

Lorelai tucks her hair behind her ears, briefly occupying herself so she doesn't laugh. "I'm sure he is! But you could use that $2000, Luke. With that and help from everyone else, you probably wouldn't need a loan."

"I… am beginning to accustom myself to the idea of a loan. I know how I'm going to pay it back, almost immediately."

"Yeah? What's the grand master plan?"

"I have something to sell. The market isn't good right now, but it'll bounce back by autumn. I can feel it."

"And what's that?"

Luke swallows, hesitating. "My father's boat. I've kept it since he died, and it doesn't make sense to keep it around any longer. If I can fix it up enough to sell it by autumn, I'll have enough money to pay back the loan and help send Jess to college."

Lorelai almost drops her coffee. Some of the liquid splashes over the side, barely missing the money, as the cup comes gracelessly to the counter. She pulls her hands into her lap to intertwine her fingers, squeezing the air in between her palms in a death grip. Luke immediately picks up the cup, swipes his rag under it, and replaces it in front of her, topping it off to compensate for what was lost. Lorelai's neck begins to hurt, as she is shaking her head faster and faster. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. She hears Luke say her name, and she looks up at him. "You're a really good person, you know that?"

"Yeah, well."

"No. You are genuinely the best person I know. You would do anything for the people you care about." Luke just shrugs with one shoulder and watches as Lorelai picks up the money from the counter. She holds it out to him, and he slowly takes it. "I don't want you to sell your father's boat. It obviously means a lot to you, and I owe it to you to help you figure this out."

Luke shakes his head. "You've already helped."

"I can do more! … Rory, tonight… she said something about obligation. I used that same thing against you on Friday because I felt betrayed. I forgot that I have an obligation to you too. We'll think of something. The boat is a last resort, the very last resort."

Luke nods. "Okay. I don't know how else you could possibly help me. This is more than enough. I saw Jess today, and he was miserable with those five other guys in there. He's going to be ecstatic when they take him out tomorrow."

"And by that you mean grunt a little less sarcastically?"

"Well we can't get our hopes up too high…" Luke says, then slips Rory's $500 into the envelope. "He's not going to like this. He wanted Rory to have it."

Lorelai just shrugs. "He can send her a check whenever he wants, just not when the two of you are sitting on a mountain of hospital bills. Besides, a little birdie told me that dear Emily and Richard may be buying Rory a car for her graduation from Chilton so she's not driving home in a homemade piece of crap."

"The little birdie being you?" Luke guesses.

"Exactly!" Lorelai exclaims as she points at him. "Wow, you're good."

"Eavesdropping on your own parents," Luke says with a mocking shake of his head.

"It's not my fault they believed me when I said I was going to the kitchen." Lorelai shrugs, slipping her purse onto her shoulder as she hops off the stool. "Anyhow, maybe you should hold off on telling Jess about this, especially the five hundred from Rory."

"He's going to suspect, but alright. Can't hurt."

"You can if you have to, but try not to. Thanks for the coffee." While Luke stares at her wordlessly, she tosses a dollar into the Jess Jar, the first of many. The bill sits at the bottom of the glass container like the lonely butterfly or lightning bug she would catch as a child. After a few minutes, she'd feel too guilty to keep it there because it deserved companionship. She fishes out some coins as well.

After bidding Luke goodbye and walking out into the spring air, Lorelai wonders if her parents would consider getting Rory's graduation present a little early. For that short-lived time, Rory truly enjoyed having a car, spouting about how empowering it was to pick Dean up for a change. It's not her fault it's gone anyhow… or Jess's. Richard and Emily can't say no to - Richard and Emily. Richard and Emily! Her parents! Her parents can fix this!

Lorelai takes her cell phone out of their pocket and dials the Gilmore mansion landline. As it rings, she mutters, "Pick up. Pick up."

She doesn't like to use her family to get what she wants, to get ahead of other people. That's one of the reasons she never went back to that life. It shouldn't matter who you know, what you were born into. And she definitely prefers to avoid asking Emily and Richard Gilmore for anything. With these thoughts, Lorelai considers hanging up after the fourth ring. Then, Luke's face flashes in her mind's eye. Dejected, aging, selfless. He's pouring all he has into this; he's putting everything forward, using every card. She imagines Rory as she stood on the stage begging for the town's help, crying for the person Lorelai detests almost more than her own mother. They are suffering for him, employing every move they have for him, and Lorelai has an obligation to both of them to do the same.

"Hello?" It is Richard's voice, while Emily yells in the background, "Richard, who on earth is that? Don't they know it is past nine o'clock?"

Lorelai takes a deep breath and plays her last card.

* * *

Rory and Lorelai almost have to press their backs to the door as Luke flashes past them with three plates up his right arm and four up his left, headed to the corner table. A group of seven people Rory doesn't recognize are sitting, laughing, and she and her mother rush forward to grab the plates off Luke's arms. As he calls out the orders, the plates are set down in front of the diners, who barely look up as they raise two fingers to claim their dish.

When Rory turns around, Luke is already behind the counter grabbing the coffee pot, coming back to the large table to refill all seven coffees. Two large mugs are in his other hand, which he pours to the brim with black liquid, placing them on the table before Lorelai and Rory can settle in its chairs.

"Busy morning?" Lorelai asks.

Luke shakes his head. "Nah just tourists, each of whom asked me to recite all the types of bread I serve, then can't decide between rye and wheat. Just pick one!"

While he shoots off a glare to the oblivious corner table, Lorelai says, "I'm glad you're not too busy. You headed to the hospital today?"

"Not until tonight. I'm going to call, though, make sure Jess is happy in his new room."

"Oh, I think he will be," Lorelai says too cryptically, and Rory raises an eyebrow that Luke doesn't catch.

He says, "I really owe you two for last night. Pancakes or waffles? It's on the house."

"Both," they say in unison, and as Lorelai calls out for extra syrup, Luke walks away with an eyeroll muttering, "I should've known. You're going to die of sugar overload."

Rory sinks down and whispers, "What did you do?"

"I called in a favor," Lorelai says back with a mischievous grin, lowering her head to the same level as her daughters, until both of their chins are almost resting on the linoleum table.

"Meaning?"

Lorelai says, "I put my parents to good use. You know how they're donors for Hartford Memorial? They're going to get Jess into a nice private room with no charge to Luke!"

A seed is planted in Rory's stomach, and it isn't blossoming into anything pretty. It's developing into a deformed pit, of shock and sadness and anger, none of which she understands. She forces out, "That's great! No strings attached?"

Lorelai sucks in a breath through her teeth. "You have to go to more debutante balls until you find a suitable husband, preferably of Western European descent, second to fourth generation."

Rory's face flattens as she stares at her mother, eyes narrowed. She pushes out through her clenched jaw, "What?"

"You look so ready to come out! Again!" Lorelai teases then rolls her eyes. "One more. You have to go to one more debutante ball so that Richard and Emily get a redo, since they were fighting during the last one. Besides that, no strings attached."

Rory half-sighs and half-groans. None of this feels right. She should be more than willing to squeeze into a cupcake dress and parade around a ballroom; she already cried on a stage at the Town Meeting and humiliated herself. This is what is best. Yet, she can't help but think that she wanted to do something for Jess, and that got taken away.

Lorelai asks, "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy about this. I bet Chris will come back for this, and Dean will probably escort you again."

"It's not about that," Rory mumbles.

Lorelai reads her like an open book and reaches her arm across the table to touch Rory's shoulder. "Sweets, you still helped Jess. The money can be used to help with his treatment."

"You're right," Rory says. "Of course you're right. This is good. I'm not exactly ecstatic for take two, but it's worth it. Thank you, Mom. I'll call Grandma and Grandpa after school to thank them."

"And get the date of your next coming out!" Lorelai adds before pointing to the Jess Jar. "Look!"

There is a small pile of bills from the early morning breakfast crowd, coins at the bottom and paper stacking atop them. The rocks at the bottom of the glass bowl far outnumber the surface plants, but there is progress.

Luke approaches with two full plates, one with waffles stacked high, various fruits and whipped cream nearly covering the pastry. The other plate has pancakes infested with chocolate chips, and a syrup pitcher hangs by its handle over Luke's wrist. At their cries of delight, he sets them down, then says, "Here you go. Let Caesar know if you need anything else. I have to go talk to the principal."

Rory offers, "Hey, Luke, I'm happy to help Jess study and make up his work."

Luke smiles, "Thanks, Rory, but you don't have to. I know you were just doing me a favor."

"I want to!" Rory says, and as soon as the words come out she knows they escaped too quickly. "Exams are coming up, and he can't get behind. I'll do whatever it takes, short of doing it for him."

Luke shrugs. "It's up to you. I'll be back in twenty."

Through the window, Rory watches Luke head off towards Stars Hollow High with some papers tucked into his back pocket. She observes Taylor stopping him on the sidewalk, a brief conversation ensuing before an envelope is delivered from older to younger man. Probably a bill for the bench. Beside her, Lorelai is cutting through the stack of waffles cursing her butter knife for being duller than her past two dates. Gradually, an idea is forming in her mind. It's been two days since she overheard Babette and Patty talking about packing boxes. Luke is going to be gone for 20 minutes. The apartment upstairs is empty. She stands up suddenly, gives an excuse about going to the restroom, and nearly runs up the stairs. Lorelai's face is too far gone inside the pile of whip cream and waffles to notice her disappear behind the curtain.

When she opens the door, it approaches softly like a nervous animal, touching to her toes. It is hard to describe; Rory simply has a… feeling. It _feels_ emptier here. There are several boxes in different spots in the room. She shakes her head. This doesn't mean anything. The feeling grows as she approaches Jess's side of the apartment. The top of his dresser has been cleared off. There is a box next to it, stacks and stacks of books packed in. _Nicholas Nickelby_. _Mansfield Park_. _Fahrenheit 451_. _The Unbearable Lightness of Being_. Those are the titles on the top, many of their kin following underneath. Another box contains CDs, cassettes, and vinyl. Rory identifies The Clash, Simon and Garfunkel, and Queen from the array. Maybe Luke is just doing some organizing… Rory rotates ninety degrees and sees a third box, stuffed with clothing, two pairs of black shoes sitting on top.

The feeling that approached carefully before is suffocating her now. The nervous, hesitant creature was a boa in disguise. It overcame her without her noticing, or understanding why, slithering up her back before revolving around her neck to choke her. She backs away from the boxes and as her knees are buckling, lets herself sit down at the kitchen table. Dropping her elbow onto the hardwood surface, her forehead comes to smack against her palm and her eyes close. Rubbing her temples with her fingertips, she tries to make a pro-con list. Pro: If Jess leaves, Dean will be happier. Pro: If Jess leaves, her mom will be happier. Pro: If Jess leaves, the entire town of Stars Hollow will be happier. Con: If Jess leaves, Rory is scared that she might actually miss him.

She opens her eyes to see a newspaper folded in half resting on the kitchen table. In bright red marker, as if it were waiting for her to discover it, is a circle around a selection on a schedule. A bus schedule. Headed out of Stars Hollow on Saturday morning.


	15. Author Note

I am returned from my time abroad in Madagascar. It's time to continue the story. Updates will be less frequent than they were before I left, but I am happy to see that readers want the story to continue. I got emails giving follow notifications while I was gone; always a boost for me. Let me know what you think of the next chapter. Perhaps I've lost my touch. (Seriously. I haven't looked at this thing in months.)

Deuces!


	16. Chapter 14

**Chapter XIV**

"I'm looking for Jess Mariano? He went to a new room this morning."

The middle-age nurse with her wiry glasses looks down at her clipboard, frowns. "Hmm, I see his name, but there's a star next to it. Let me check the computer, make sure this room number is current."

She rolls to the other side of the desk with a quick pushstart from her leg, sliding gracefully across the floor to the computer. Barely stalling her motion in time, she begins to type and click. She turns around after a couple minutes and says, "Sorry, dear. We don't have a room number updated into the system yet."

"What do you mean?" Rory asks.

She shrugs. "It says pending. I know that he was transferred into a new room this morning at 5:00 am then transferred out of that room at 2:00pm. It's only been an hour. He's probably still in the private wing."

Rory strolls slowly through the hall, trying not to be excessively obvious as she checks each room. Passing by the small circular windows with quick glances through each, she probably looks like a creeper. She does not have the energy to care. Seeing the boxes and the bus schedule this morning dragged something out of her. After spending the rest of breakfast waiting for Luke to return so she could confront him, Rory came to a conclusion. Firstly, it would be stupid to miss the bus because she was pending on Luke who at that very moment was probably withdrawing Jess from Stars Hollow High. Secondly, Jess should tell her himself; she wants to hear it from him. Like Lorelai told her, she shouldn't bring it up. She wants him to explain it to her, and by the time he comes around to that confession, she will have answered her mother's question: Do you really care that much?

"Hey, stranger."

Rory jerks her neck, as it was turned towards a room on her right, to see Jess. He's sitting in a wheelchair, his left ankle propped up with a blanket on his lap, a shawl draped over his shoulders. A stockinged foot peeks out from under it, a small furry animal poking out of its den. He propels himself forward very slowly down the hallway, and Rory consumes the distance between them with a few quick steps.

"I was here on Sunday," Rory says as she reaches him, and she immediately scans him up and down. The last she'd seen, he was choking on air with a fever that could've boiled eggs. She tugs at the collar of her uniform as she recalls the heat of his forehead pressed onto her clavicle, the closeness of their bodies when she held him in her arms, knowing full well he was in excruciating pain yet oblivious as to how to relieve it. Now he looks slightly ill, his skin paler, but bruises and undereye circles appearing ten times darker.

"I know. You must've missed me," he responds casually as he tips his head to motion her aside. As he starts to roll forward, she takes a slow, intensely deliberate step.

"You're feeling better?" she asks as they start their gradual progression down the corridor. She realizes it would be painful if he put any more force into rotating the wheels of the chair.

"Fine," Jess replies nonchalantly. Rory doesn't know what she expected, this time or the several before now.

"Jess, what are you doing out here?"

He shrugs as he makes his way around the corner, struggling to manipulate the wheels correctly. Rory feels her body flinch as she has to stop herself from helping him. "Beats me. When I woke up this morning, I went to a new room. Well I watched the sunrise first. Then they took me out of that one, said I get to go to a better one. But it wasn't ready yet and my old room was filled already. So I'm just hanging around. I think there was a nurse with me but we got separated."

"Separated or did you lose them on purpose?" Rory asks skeptically.

"What are you suggesting?" Jess asks wryly.

Rory shrugs under the weight of her backpack. "Not much. Just that the person who bailed on dinner his first night in town might try to lose a poor, unsuspecting nurse."

"Do you see how slow I'm moving here? I couldn't escape a snail."

She tries to console. "Not that slow…"

"Glad you think so. I was thinking we'd find you a wheelchair and have a race."

Rory laughs at the strange image of her and Jess catapulting down the hall in wheelchairs. The scary part is, if she didn't have a fractured wrist, she might actually do it. "You're ridiculous. Not to mention I'd definitely win."

"You mean you wouldn't let the sick guy win?" Jess asks with a humored tone. "I'm appalled at you, Rory Gilmore."

A part of her goes numb when she hears him say her name. It rolls off his tongue at a graceful speed, in tempo almost. There's a thickness in his voice, like coffee with cream, or like the red wine her mother describes and fawns over which Rory has never tasted. Rory Gilmore. In a wheelchair race with Jess Mariano at the hospital in Hartford. It sounds preposterous, yet she'd do it. She makes dumb decisions thanks to him. She goes outside of her comfort zone thanks to him. And she only has so much time left to be with him.

"Rory? Slow down, would you?" comes a strained voice from behind her.

She realizes she had gotten several steps ahead of Jess, who is rolling towards her with a neutral expression, blank save for his furrowed brow. He is trying to move faster than before. Rory can tell it is paining him to attempt to keep up with her, and she rushes to return. She gets behind his chair as she apologizes, grasping the handles. She lightly curls the fingers of her hindered left hand around the rod, but the imbalance makes pushing the chair forward a little harder.

"I got it," Jess protests as she propels him forward.

"I know you do, but let me, okay?" She replies. He grumbles as he settles in, pulling the shawl tighter around his frail shoulders. She asks, "Are you cold?"

"I don't know," he says. "I was hot half an hour ago."

"That's how these things go," Rory says as she barely dodges a garbage bin. "I hope your room is ready soon. You should rest."

"Nah, I like it out here. Moving around."

Rory asks, "Are they letting you read yet?"

"I get headaches. Trust me, I've tried. This place hands out prime punishment time. No reading. No loud music. No TV in the room. And I had five roommates for a day."

Rory cringes at the deprived existence Jess created with his words, then wonders how much he knows about his relocation. Instead, she requests, "Tell me about them."

"I don't know their names," he says as she pushes him down an unfamiliar hall at his direction. She repeats her petition, and he launches into descriptions. "The one on my left spent all his time on the phone with his girlfriend. On my right, think… 'the brain' mixed with Ducky."

"John Hughes?" Rory confirms, and Jess points out a turn.

"It was annoying."

She says sarcastically, "An astonishing opinion from Judd Nelson, everybody!"

"Dodger and 'the criminal'? High bar, Miss Ringwald."

Rory smiles and wishes she could see the smirk on Jess's face, even though she knows for certain it is there. She scoffs. "Now I'm 'the princess'? That's not-"

He cuts her off. "Two words. Rory. Curtain."

"Shut up!" She blushes as she remembers that night outside the video store, her picture on display for all to see. Jess never told her what he did to _Bambi_ and _Dumbo_ , but the cassettes he replaced them with must've contained… adult content. She insists, "Tell me about your other roommates."

Jess goes on, "Then there was Squeaker. He slept almost all day, but he squeaks when he breathes. There was one that groaned a lot. Like sex noises but worse somehow."

Rory flushes at that too, thankful she is behind him, and inserts, "He must've been in pain."

"Yeah, from an STD."

"You're terrible!" Rory cries, but can't help the laugh that erupts from her belly. Her belly is always right, when it comes to food and humor.

"Which I take pride in. Last but not least, Romeo."

"Not his real name?"

"Nah. He was writing a letter to some guy, though, which he dramatically shared with us. He sounded so desperate, I had to help him out. Kind of like you."

Rory jerks the chair a bit, but struggles to straighten out the trajectory afterwards. "Hey! That's not true!"

"Sure."

Rory reaches a door with a placard naming it the 'solarium', with a small description underneath. She reads aloud, "The Jim and Dana Melbourne Solarium was once used extensively for therapeutic exposure to light. Renovated in 1990 thanks to the generous contributions of Jim and Dana Melbourne, it is now a beautiful, open space for patients, visitors, and loved ones to enjoy. Wow, that's so nice."

"Right," Jess says dryly as he leans forward to grab the door handle. Rory beats him to it and holds it open while he wheels himself inside, giving her a scowl on the way.

Coming through the doorway, Rory is nearly blinded by light. Surrounded by glass, the sun's rays fly through the walls and the ceiling, illuminating everything around her. The trees behind the hospital are now only meters away, allowing the light to poke through their leaves, newly-grown in the past couple weeks of early spring. A small area in front of the solarium has been cleared, with flowers planted along a small paved path, wrapping around until it goes out of sight. She spots the last of the crocus stubbornly making their leave, with daffodils and tulips in their yellow and pink gowns stealing the stage. She looks up again and sees a pair of birds fly by, only a few feet above the glass of the solarium ceiling. This place… it's a place of renewal, of revival.

"You're smiling," Jess observes as Rory continues to flick her eyes around the scene before her until they come to rest on him. Even the sight of him in his weak and vulnerable state doesn't stop her lips from pulling back over her teeth. Because it's like that time before they watched _Shrek_ together. In the dim sheen of the television-lit room, she saw him, really saw him. Now, she's being blinded by light instead of darkness, the sun's rays transforming him in front of her into the person she talked to on the bridge. The stubborn bibliophile for whom she put herself on the line the night before. With his messy hair and teasing smirk, telling her to give Hemingway a chance. When really, Rory can admit now, Jess wanted her to give him a chance.

"I can't help it," she whispers softly, turning her gaze back to the flowers, walking up to stand beside him. "It's beautiful in here."

She can feel his dark eyes on her when he says, "Yeah, I guess it is."


	17. Chapter 15

Chapter XV

Standing behind the counter, Luke grips the envelope Taylor gave him this morning, a letter-size pocket swiftly delivered before the elder man retreated. That weasel knew a 10 meter radius around Luke was a danger zone, so he fled like a coward before the envelope was even opened. Luke had been in a decent mood since he received $100 just that morning for Jess's treatment. Then, obviously, Taylor had to crush that fleeting moment, eviscerate it with his obnoxious ignorance. He read the paper once then crumpled it into a ball, wanting to throw it at Taylor's balding head, but the shiny orb was nowhere in sight. So he flattened it out, inserted it back into its casing, and kept it.

Luke throws the envelope under the counter, and restarts his calculation of the afternoon's totals. However, hiding it from sight does not calm him, and he pounds the calculator's buttons with excessive force.

His meeting with the principal that morning, immediately following Taylor's unwelcome drop-and-go was… uneventful. He set up the appointment with the intention of getting Jess's file and withdrawing him from school, but the twelve hours before his return to Stars Hollow High changed things, at least from his perspective. What if, despite Luke's lack of parental qualifications, his pure irritation with having a teenager around, the town's complaints, and the havoc his nephew has wreaked, what if… he didn't have to go?

Sure, Luke was going to send Jess back to New York on his own. But that was last night, before Rory rallied at the town meeting. He wondered if the town was willing to help, they'd be willing to overlook what Jess has done and the accident. Now a piece of paper that was essentially vomited up by Taylor is ordering him to do what he was already going to do, and his pride is protesting. He isn't going to tell Jess to stay when everyone wants him to go, including his nephew himself, but he'll be damned if he lets Taylor win. Though the complaints were anonymous, Luke could match almost all of them to their owners. The audacity of these people. They'd donate money to help him pay the hospital bills for his nephew, then demand that this same nephew is shipped off like an unwanted catalog order. Demand that he toss him onto a bus to New York City with 'Return to Sender' plastered on his forehead in bright red ink.

They aren't bad people, he reminds he tries to soften his blows to the counting machine. Except Taylor. They are angry. That's all. They aren't bad people.

He looks up in time to see Lorelai striding toward the diner. As she moves closer, there is a white rectangle on the door blocking part of his view of her.

In one smooth motion, Lorelai pulls off the blank envelope snagged to the diner's door with scotch tape and grabs the handle. When she gets to the counter, she exchanges it for a cup of coffee. Luke pushes the caffeinated beverage toward her then opens the envelope.

"Well?" she asks.

He pulls out some bills. "$50. Anonymous, of course. I'm trying to figure out if they're scared of other people knowing they're helping my nephew, or of me knowing that's how badly they want him gone."

"Does it matter?" Lorelai takes a gulp. "They're helping either way."

Luke twists the Jess Jar to see into it past the stickers and puff paint, a healthy pile of money inside. "It just feels wrong to take money from people giving it for the wrong reasons."

"They are giving money so Jess can recover. In the comfort of his own room. Which is why you can't be mad when you see it. It may be a little… bigger than you first thought. But at no cost to you, I promise!"

"What did you do," he asks through clenched teeth.

"Nothing! I just made a call. That is it, and you cannot be mad at me for it. It cost me nothing. It cost you nothing. Happily ever after. The end. More coffee, please."

Luke sighs and lets go of the argument. Lorelai will probably think he surrendered too easily, but he's not going to fight it. He's a charity case already. "Your need for caffeine is insatiable. It's unhealthy."

She shrugs. "So is frowning that much. Doesn't stop you… So did you hear?" That morning, Lorelai went to give Babette a package that had been accidentally delivered to her porch, and she stood in front of her neighbor's for five minutes before Babette caught on. She was recounting the entire affair to someone on the phone, lounged in a chair on her porch, and all Lorelai had to do was stand and listen.

"About?"

"That dumb post-meeting Taylor had?"

Lorelai's words appear to flip a switch in Luke's demeanor. His face tenses, eyes go cold, fists clench on top of the linoleum countertop. In response, he ducks underneath.

Luke retrieves the envelope, removes its contents, and slams the paper onto the counter in front of Lorelai. He shouts, "Do you see this? I've never seen something so childish, so disrespectful, so-"

"I knew it!" Lorelai exclaims, pointing at one of the bullets. "I knew he took out that ice sculpture! I mean, I guess I should be thanking -"

Luke cuts her off in turn by snatching the paper away. "Not the point! At all."

"Look, that list doesn't mean anything. You knew most of that stuff, anyways."

Luke slides it into the pocket of his flannel. "But never all in one place. They want him out."

"It doesn't matter what they want," Lorelai says. "What do you want? And Jess? At the end of the day, this is about you and your family. You know what's best."

Those are the words Lorelai needed to hear fifteen years ago, when she was a single teenage mother working as a maid. When she needed someone to tell her that she did the right thing, in keeping the baby, in refusing to marry Christopher, in leaving her old life. Rory became her family, Stars Hollow became her home, and the people in Hartford thought she was crazy. That she didn't know what was good for her, or her child. But truly, she would have cried in joy and relief if someone told her that she knew what she was doing, and that what she was doing was best. She wishes she'd known Luke then. Not for coffee or guidance on being an adult, but just to tell her she could.

"Maybe I'll talk to him about it again…" is what comes out, drenched in uncertainty. "It's a little ironic, you being the one to -"

"I didn't say I want him here. I said it's not my place to have a say. And I think he's going to have to do a lot more than hit a bench for Taylor to have one either. Talk to Jess. I'd also like a danish to go. Actually, make it two." She fishes out some money for the coffee and pastries, then a couple extra bills for the Jar.

* * *

Jess and Rory sit side by side, Jess in his wheelchair, Rory on the cushioned bench next to it. They stare at the garden outside the solarium, as the sun's rays become the dimmer glows of early evening, from the bright beams of late afternoon. Soon, the sun will set. Twelve hours earlier, Jess had sat in here watching the sun rise. At that point, it didn't feel like a hello. The wind prompted the trees to begrudgingly wave their branches in farewell. The tulips and daffodils had their petals closed against him in the chill morning, unwilling to face him. Only one bird was awake, calling out its song in long, ear-trembling screeches. Everything was a goodbye.

But then he came with Rory. And everything was different. Alive. So he felt like an imposter with his damaged body under a worn blanket in his pitiful wheelchair. The birds wouldn't sing for him. The flowers wouldn't dance for him then. That's how his life has always been. Never on time. Always out of place. Being too early or too late. Jess isn't stupid. He knows that he is broken. He knows that he belongs in New York, working a couple city jobs and picking up change from the slushy sidewalks. Yet a part of him wonders what could have been if he had ever been on time. If Luke hadn't become a part of his life so late. If his father hadn't left so soon. If his mother wasn't too late in realizing how screwed up he is. If he hadn't grown up that early. And if he hadn't arrived in Stars Hollow too late to be the guy for Rory. Jess isn't stupid. The nutty townspeople will be ecstatically waving him goodbye as soon as he can get himself onto the bus. So will Lorelai. And Luke, who won't have to house someone like him. But Rory? Jess isn't sure. He's forced her to doubt her relationship with bagboy, and she'll be relieved when that threat is gone. But Rory cares about him, and maybe she'll come to miss him. Jess can allow himself to be confident of that.

"Thank you, by the way," Jess murmurs, and neither of them avert their gaze from the glass.

"For?"

The smooth touch of the skin on her collarbone reminisces on his forehead. The branching of her fingers in his hair plays at his scalp. He'd imagined how that would feel before, but not in quite the same situation. He is unsure how to say it, so he goes simple. "For being there yesterday."

"Anytime."

His mouth turns up on one side. "You played it cool. Good job."

Rory replies, "I wouldn't call that playing it cool, but I'll take my trophy now. … You really scared me there."

"I know," he said, then after a pause. "My bad."

She shakes her head, looking at him while he observes the outside world, where he isn't sure he's ready to return. "Don't apologize. I just worry about you."

"Don't," he orders, discomfort crawling up his spine, stretching through his temples. He hasn't taken painkillers since noon. Or he can't accustom himself to someone being concerned for him. Or both.

She whispers, "I don't know how."

Jess looks at her now, crystalline spheres gazing into him, not through him. He detects fear in those eyes. Of what, he isn't sure, and he won't ask. Maybe she would. Maybe she would miss him. Yet Jess doesn't want her to suffer. That's why he made sure she wouldn't be alone. That's why he tried to help fix what he'd spent months trying to break. He turns away first, changing the topic to: "So how did it go with Dean?"

"I don't have to tell you that."

Jess raises an eyebrow and nudges her. "I think you do. As co-author, I have entitlements."

Rory sighs and mutters, "It was okay."

"Right."

"Fine, he hates your guts. He's really upset, and he said we'd talk about it later, but we haven't. Honestly, I thought it was going to be way worse."

Jess smirks. Of course. "So he was a saint about it."

"To me, yes," Rory murmurs, leaving the second half of that sentence unsaid.

He repeats, "So he was a saint about it."

"I don't want him to come after you," she all but whispers, looking down to her intertwined fingers, resting atop her plaid skirt. A cliched school uniform worn by a girl who is anything but.

"Lighten up, Teach," he says, watching her flinch at the nickname, the one he bestowed upon her the night of the accident. He gestures to his flawed body, to his bruised head, bandaged ankle, damaged chest. "Bagboy can't do worse than this."

"That's not what I meant."

Jess just sighs and looks back out into the garden, his head throbbing more strongly now as he considers. He isn't sure if he wants to tell Rory he is leaving. He isn't sure how much she'll care. All he knows is that everything will be easier this way, especially for Rory and Luke. Sometimes when a scene is in chaos, the best thing to do is remove oneself from it. He has wanted to leave this town when he got here, so why should he care about saying goodbye?

"Does your head hurt?" Rory asks, and Jess realizes that he's pressing his fingers to his forehead, just to the side of the bruise on his temple.

"A bit," he mutters, and Rory stands immediately and suggests they return before he gets in trouble. Jess moves the chair before she can get behind it, and she settles for opening the door for him. She gazes at him intently as she holds the door open for him.

Glancing up at her and pausing within the frame, he asks, "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing… You're just too proud, that's all."

Jess scoffs and holds the stare. "I mean, I'm no Oedipus."

Rory takes the opportunity to jump behind his chair, grabbing one handle and resting her weak hand on the other. Jess rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat, shrugging off the shawl. There is a heat building in his torso now, stretching up into his shoulders and neck while branching through his legs, making the bandages around his ankle feel hot and uncomfortable. He knows Rory will now be able to see the tube still injected into his chest, its base container stuck in the arm of the chair, but he doesn't care. It's too hot, even though his fingers were icicles when they were headed through the hall in the opposite direction. Instead of cold water dripping off the icicle tips, sweat beads are forming.

Building off the reference with ease, Rory replies, "Well, I'd hope not. You and Liz would have a really interesting relationship then."

"Aw, jeez!"

She laughs and pauses to give him his water bottle from the sack on his chair. He wants to swat her hand away for that sick joke but takes the hydrator. He needs it. Rory doesn't keep moving, and she instead shifts to stand beside him. He is about to roll the chair himself when she realizes aloud, "This is unbreached territory."

He waits for her explanation, just raises his eyebrow, and she says, "Ancient Greek and Roman literature. We have never talked about this before!"

"We haven't talked about a lot of books before," he says. "And we have many discontinued arguments."

Rory puts up three fingers, dropping them with each point. "One, _The Fountainhead_ is kind of genius. Two, Ernest Hemingway is dull. Three, _Pride and Prejudice_ is a classic and _Mansfield Park_ tries to usurp it but to no avail."

He shakes his head. "Jane Austen has you girls fooled."

"We are discussing this later," she says as she rolls him forward as a slow pace, just as deliberate as when she was walking alongside him. Jess suspects she is trying to elongate their time together, and already the throbbing in his head becomes a background sensation. She continues, "For now, you have to tell me what you think about this. Can Homer and Sophocles be compared?"

"Sure, they're two old guys in Ancient Greece," he replies with a nonchalant shrug. She jerks him around a corner and he sighs. "Fine, I wouldn't think so. Epic poetry and drama is different, and it wouldn't do either justice."

"Exactly! That's what I said! Some girl in my English class tried to…"

Jess listens as Rory launches into the story of an idiot in her class who tried to compare Sophocles to Homer in the backdrop of Ancient Greek heroism. Her use of themes like pride and guilt did not justify her argument, and the comparison of epic heroism and tragic heroism was not as black-and-white as she thought. Jess contributes on the differences between theatrical performance and oral storytelling, and Rory stops to give him a high-five, a bright smile stretched over her face. She exclaims that he should've been there to really show her how it's done. He raises his eyebrows at that, and she comments that it's not far out since he is definitely smart enough to be a student at Chilton. He rolls his eyes at her, then turns around again.

Jess smirks while she isn't looking, is sharing her favorite parts in _Antigone_ , and considers it all. Pride, guilt, the tragic hero. He looks down at himself again, and his body aches in response to his gaze. He's no hero, not even a tragic one. At least a tragic hero gets the sympathy of the audience in his or her own way; he can't even manage that, and he knows he shouldn't want it. Not from the crowd by which he is forcibly surrounded. Jess hears Rory's voice from the other day when he said 'better me than you'. Her response, sad and dejected, was: _Why does everyone keep saying that?_

"Jess?"

He starts, realizing he didn't hear what she had said last about the play. She stops moving once again to place her good hand on his shoulder. The pressure from her palm is just the right amount, and her touch is soothing through his hospital clothing. She says in the same soft, almost begrudging way he had earlier, "Thank you, by the way. For helping me write that letter to Dean. You didn't have to."

Jess resists a shudder thinking of them together, forcing himself to remember why he did it. It makes as much sense now as it did then.

"I know."


	18. Chapter 16

Chapter XVI

"Hello?"

Rory considers hanging up. She considers it strongly. She doesn't want to do this right now. She'd probably avoid it forever if she could. Yet, now seems as good a time as any. Before she loses her nerve. Earlier, she felt something wrench inside her, when she thanked Jess for helping write Dean's letter. There was a tone- but not even that. It was an aura, but that's ridiculous. Just a sound her gut heard, that sensed of loss, defeat, surrender. Like he'd given up, sacrificed. Rory may be taking his two words - 'I know' - into something they are not. Into a sacrifice he never made, a surrender he never admitted.

"Is anyone there?"

She swallows the lump in her throat. "Hi. Um, it's me, Rory."

"Hey, Rory!" The excitement in his voice sounds dull and fake to Rory's ears. He isn't mocking her, but there is definitely a deeply-pitted anger.

"So, I was thinking that we should talk," she says, slowly and deliberately, half-wishing he'd take the opportunity to cut her off and say they could do this another time, any other time.

Dean sighs. "We should. Would you like me to come get you? Maybe in person is best."

Rory winds the phone cord around her fingers, almost yanking the receiver away from herself so she doesn't have to say it. "I'm, uh, not at my house."

"Did you miss the bus?" Dean asks tentatively, even though the suspicion is evident.

"No, I'm… I'm at the hospital. Visiting Jess."

Silence answers her confession. It's like she went to a cathedral and sat in the box and stared at the wall, as she was supposed to. Then she recited 'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned' and admitted her trespasses like she's seen in the movies. Just for the person on the other side of the grainy wood to say nothing.

Why does this even need to be a confession? Why does she feel so guilty?

Rory rambles on, adding small pauses as she tries to think of more fractions of phrases that don't quite make sentences. "He's doing better, actually. Left his room today. Went round a bit. And he got into the private wing. Like all the big shots. There's a-"

"Rory!" Dean explodes, cutting her off at last. "I don't _care_! In fact, I truly don't want to hear anything about that punk unless someone sold him a train ticket."

"Dean, come on, d-"

"No, you come on!" He yells, then lowers his voice to pose an offended inquiry. "Is this what you like to do every day? Go to the hospital to see Jess? What about your homework and studying? What about Harvard?"

Rory flinches, then retorts, "Don't make this about Harvard. It's a couple hours of my time. I'm getting everything done."

"Fine, then. This isn't about Harvard. What about everyone else, then? Would you rather go to the hospital to see Jess all the time rather than see the people that actually care about you?"

 _Jess does care about me_ , Rory thinks to herself immediately, but she doesn't say it aloud. Too scared. Too much of a coward. Saying it aloud will make Dean even more angry, and then he will call her a liar again. Jess has never said that he cares for her, but Rory knows that for someone who reads a book a day, he isn't good with words. He doesn't have to say it; Rory just knows.

Dean continues, "What about your mom? And Lane? Wouldn't you rather see them than that guy?"

Rory sighs. _Just say it, Dean_. He goes, "Would you rather see Jess than be with me?"

Since she had expected it, she makes sure not to hesitate at all before saying, "Of course not. You're my boyfriend, and I want to be with you as much as I can. But Jess is my friend, and he's hurt. I'm just trying to be there for him. Please stop being so upset."

Dean exhales, something between an angry snort and a sigh. "Can you blame me, Rory? He put both of you in the hospital, totalled the car, and ever since he got to town-"

"Stop it!" Rory exclaims, then quickly looks around for staring passerbys. "It wasn't his fault. Jess is hurt because of me. Sort of."

Dean inserts, "I know for a fact-"

"You don't know anything!" Rory says, feeling tears stinging at the backs of her eyes. "We were on the way back from ice cream, just talking, and Jess said that we should go back. Then he said that if he turned right we could keep driving. I told him to turn right. I did that."

He hesitates, processing, then gives her back her own words in a tone of defeat with which she is growing too familiar. "You told him to turn right?"

"Yes. I did. I'm not saying this whole mess is my fault because it could have happened to anyone, but I'm so sick and tired of people blaming Jess. Especially you. I thought you'd listen to me more than the rest."

Dean mutters, "I do listen to you, Rory."

"Then why can't you trust me?"

Seeming to regret it as he says it, the words from her boyfriend sound almost forced, in addition to redundant. "It's him I don't trust… I just want him to leave so everything can be how it was before!"

"Before?"

"Before he got here. Before you saw parts of yourself in someone else that I don't have."

Rory sighs. A part of her knows that he is right. It's what she said herself to her own mother a couple nights ago. It doesn't make sense, their friendship, but she and Jess have things in common. She just wishes Dean would remember that a piece won't fit between two others unless there is already space between them. Rory says, "Jess didn't cause any of this. He's messed up a lot since he got to Stars Hollow, but he didn't mess up this. We've damaged this all on our own. We don't communicate. So forget about Jess. I have to go. Next time, let's talk about us."

Dean clears his throat. "Okay, Rory. I just have one more question. Is it true what everyone is saying? About Jess leaving town?"

Rory starts at his question. He's already heard. She doesn't want to lie, but will saying it aloud make it come true? And if she doesn't say it the right way, Dean will accuse her of caring that he is, in fact, leaving. The tears that stung behind her eyes earlier are pooling on the surface.

"Yes," she whispers, then hangs up before she can hear the sound of Dean's smile.

* * *

The nurse counts down, and in one swift motion brings Jess to stand out of the wheelchair, rotates him, and lets him down to sit on the bed. He drags himself back slowly, barely feeling the tension in his chest as his arms reach back. The nurse tucks his suction container into a compartment on the side of his bed, then returns to lift one leg, then the other. She lowers his sprained ankle onto a stack of two small plush pillows, as if they had been added to the room for precisely this purpose. Far away, Jess can hear her voice asking if that hurt. He shakes his head. It's the truth. In all honesty, Jess feels numb. This seems like a routine to him now. He's going through the same motions as yesterday and the day before. Only now, it's in this fancy get-up that wasn't meant for somebody like him. He'd bathed earlier, but he feels too dirty to put himself on the large bed with its silky sheets and optimal firmness. The nurse positions huge, plush pillows behind him, and he hesitates to release his weight. She nudges him, and he leans back begrudgingly into the welcome arms of a place he doesn't belong.

"Have you been sleeping?" The new nurse asks, her voice clear and high-pitched, opposite to Lora's hoarse drawl thickened by cigarettes. There's something innocent about her, pure.

"Not really."

"You've been prescribed sleeping medication. Is it not working at all?"

"I get drowsy." Truthfully, Jess started hiding his sleeping pills under his tongue two days ago. They made him feel awful. He was still lying awake at night, but it felt more like drifting in a purgatory he couldn't escape. If he was going to be awake, he'd be awake. Listening to the silence that haunts him. Thinking about reading a book on a bench in New York. Or maybe on the bridge in Stars Hollow. Maybe about finding an old typewriter just like the one that his mom's boyfriend threw against the wall two years ago when he came home half-hungover and half-drunk from the night before to hear small taps that sounded like colossal bangs to his sensitive ears. Jess had written small blurbs since then, but not like he used to on that old typewriter from Jersey. Of course, everything had already gone to shit long before Jess stopped writing; he just had to resort to even more ways to escape the noise and silence and chaos.

"I'll talk to your doctor about something new or a higher dosage. You won't recover if you don't sleep."

Jess wants to protest, but before he processes it, she is gone.

* * *

Rory gazes around the room. Compared to the box he was in before, this is enormous, as though he were an office worker who gets a promotion from a cubicle to a corner office. There is a window with classy, patterned curtains draped aside, and the walls are pristine frosty grey instead of rotten eggshell in color. A television stands on the table, twice the size of the last one with a remote and channel guide, in addition to a row of tapes on the shelf underneath. Next to it, the chill-box is a stainless steel mini-fridge look-alike, as if it contains wine coolers and prosecco rather than ice packs. The telephone is black and vintage in appearance, salvaged from decades ago yet kept in pristine condition. To the right, even the bedside table is a polished, dark wood and the chair is clad in unworn, undented leather. She completes her scan of the room when her eyes come to rest on Jess, small in the middle of a bed that could accommodate three. He is propped up on multiple cushions, staring at his hands in his lap.

"Wow," is all she can say as her eyes avert to the light fixture, then quickly back to the patient. It's all over his face. "What's wrong? You don't like it?"

"It's fine." He shrugs.

"Come on. What's up?" Rory takes a seat, finally able to drop her backpack to the floor. She gives her shoulders a roll, then leans back into the comfortable leather cushion, which supports her weight perfectly. Nice job, Grandma and Grandpa.

"There's no way Luke can afford this," he mutters, looking at the curtains with what Rory interprets as disgust, blended with a hefty dose of confusion. "What am I doing here?"

She isn't sure how to answer. She had her mother get Luke to agree that Jess would be kept in the dark as long as possible, but she isn't naive enough to think that Jess is naive. This would lead back to her, but it can be avoided for now. She replies, "I'm sure he just wanted you to have a private room. Maybe they gave him a discount."

Jess scoffs. "Please. They're squeezing him for every cent he has."

Rory swallows and offers, "It's a nice room. You should enjoy it."

"I'm trying, but my ass isn't used to sheets with such a high thread count." He adjusts himself in the bed under the plush comforter. Rory chuckles and looks to the side table to see a perfect line-up of three remotes in front of the telephone. She picks one up, and against Jess's warning, presses a button. Cool air blasts behind her, whipping her hair into her face, strands sticking to her lip gloss. As she jabs the off button, she spits hair out and turns to see a fan standing in the corner, unnoticed in her preliminary scan.

Jess is trying to contain laughter, failing miserably as he taunts, "I tried to warn you."

"You hadn't touched them yet! How would you know?"

"I didn't." He snickers.

Still arranging her hair back into place while ignoring the sticky gloss at the tips, Rory takes another remote in her palm, this time pausing to read the labels. There are two rows of buttons, a snowflake emblem at the top of one, and a flame leading the other. She selects the bottom one under the flame. After a few seconds, Jess says, "Woah! It's warm."

"What is?"

"The bed. What did you do?"

Rory picks one under the snowflake instead of answering, and he tracks the progress, "Better… better… Nope, it's cold. Stop that!"

The bed has coolers and heaters. Now that is fancy. Well done, Emily Gilmore. As Rory giggles, Jess gets the last remote from the table and selects a button. The lights gradually dim until one would think the room were illuminated just slightly by candles. It's early spring, yet autumn is diffusing itself throughout the room, as the sun sets outside. Rory turns to Jess, and her eyes play tricks on her. They seem to do that quite often; they must be susceptible to light or something. She looks at him, and he's smiling with one side of his mouth. His skin, though pale with sickness and restlessness, glows under her gaze. The dim lights, as though cast on him by fire, dance around his dark eyes like crackling flames, enticing her and welcoming her and daring her. Maybe that's what this is; Jess is constantly daring her to cross a line, to make a move that no one expects. But Rory doesn't play with fire. She never has. That's how to get burned.


	19. Chapter 17

Chapter XVII

Lorelai dumps the contents of her purse onto the coffee table, and almost commits herself to sift through the pile when the phone rings. As she is already settled in front of the table, with her legs crossed, she considers letting it go to voicemail. As she is debating with herself, before she even realizes, Christopher's voice comes on over the speaker.

"Hey, Lor and Rory. Hope you guys are well. Just checking in on my girl. I miss you already. Call me back. Bye."

Lorelai smiles. That is his third call since he departed Saturday night. The first time, he and Lorelai, after establishing that Rory was indeed at the hospital visiting Jess, talked about dumb things, movies and snacks. The second time, Rory picked up, and after 7 minutes, passed it on to her mother, who occupied it for 30. This is the third time, and Lorelai makes the executive decision that she will wait for Rory before calling him back. Chris wants Rory to be able to rely on him, and if Lorelai relies on him too, he won't be able to handle it. Rory will always be his girl, and Lorelai never can be. She can't depend on someone who isn't there, she reminds herself. Even if he's been in her thoughts every night when she goes to bed. Even if she has no right to miss him.

She shuffles through the candy wrappers, receipts, and business cards she hasn't contacted. Her fingers are the prongs of a rake, scraping through leaves to see underneath. But all she finds is more garbage.

"Come on. Come on. Where is it?"

Lorelai dug in her purse for at least 3 minutes trying to find it before she realized that's like Mary Poppins forgetting how endless her carpet-bag is. She needs to find this address. It has changed so many times that writing it in her address book wasn't ever a sensible option. She couldn't inscribe something and white it out over and over again. It hurt too much. But this time, she has hope, and it won't get crushed. They are older and wiser now. They are smarter and stronger now.

After unfolding several receipts and separating sticky notes, she unballs a slip of paper containing what she is looking for. In scrawled, quick, impulsive handwriting reads:

 _Christopher Hayden_

 _300 Harrison Ave, Apt 4J_

 _Boston, MA 02118_

Lorelai carefully copies each character onto the front of the envelope, slips the invitation inside, and seals it before she can stop herself. It would be easier to just call and ask, but she won't have him say no directly. She then spends another 5 minutes raking through the intestines of her bag for a stamp. She finds the wax paper sheet at last, but all its appliques have been peeled off. Sighing, she tosses the empty placeholder aside. She can get one from the diner in the morning and mail it off then. It will give her more time to change her mind, but frankly, Lorelai doesn't think she will. She's found a happy medium. No pointless hopes and no choking regrets.

* * *

It is approximately halfway through _The Princess Bride_ when Rory asks Jess a humored question about the proper use of the word 'inconceivable' and he doesn't reply. She looks over to see that he is asleep, neck twisted so that his cheek rests lightly on the pillow. His position is softened now, and he appears younger somehow, peaceful. Like a model who must pose stiffly in contortions just to slacken completely once the photo is taken. Rory smiles. He's finally resting. It just took a 1980s cult classic with questionable digital effects and interesting accents.

Rory slowly withdraws her feet from under the blanket, two fluffy animals poking out of their cave. When they started _The Princess Bride_ , Rory asked if there were extra blankets because her feet were cold. Jess suggested putting them under the comforter of the bed and turning on the heater, so she propped up her feet next to his legs, leaned back in her large leather chair, and clicked the appropriate button on the remote. She didn't know about Jess, but she could definitely get used to this new room. Now as her feet come back into the world without remote-controlled temperature manipulation, she shivers and looks out the window to see only darkness. After slipping on her shoes, Rory goes to stop the movie then decides to leave it running in case he wakes up. Sliding her backpack over her shoulders, she skims through the door and out into the hall, closing it behind her. Almost immediately, she can hear Luke's voice, at the desk for this wing of the hospital.

"Can I bring him this?"

"I don't think so, sir. He has a concussion. No loud noises," the receptionist responds dryly.

Rory pokes around the corner to see Luke berating the tired woman behind the desk. He holds a paper in one hand and a small stereo in the other. He asks, "Please? I'll make sure he keeps it down."

The receptionist shakes her head, and Luke raises his voice from the calm inquiry it was. He's never been one for patience. "Come on! He's exhausted, and he needs music on to sleep."

She is close enough to hear the nurse say, "I'm sorry, sir, but there is no music or television allowed once quiet hours start. Maybe you should consider an MP3 player."

It's almost laughable, Luke going to the store and picking out an MP3 player and asking someone how to put music on it. Luke seems to find it preposterous as well, since he pushes away from the desk and stomps back down the hall. Rory notices that it is the long way back to the parking lot if he is going to return the stereo. She scurries in the other direction, already creating a playlist for a mix in her head.

* * *

When Luke finally enters Jess's room, the final words of _The Princess Bride_ are playing on the television. He processes the room slowly; he definitely did not sign up for this. This is something a rich person would do, a wealthy elite too accustomed to living in a mansion with servants to accept anything else when they are nursed back to health. 'I can do more' and 'I just made a call'. That's what he heard, but he didn't interpret it on this level. Jesus Christ, Gilmore. As he closes the door behind him, he turns to see Jess glaring heavily.

"What the _hell_ am I doing in here?"

His nephew looks so out of place in the large bed, tense and the opposite of relaxed. Luke recalls when both of them went to the dinner at the Independence Inn, speculating what possible purposes were served by the extraneous dish elements. Jess hangs in small apartments in big cities. Luke runs a diner. They don't belong in places like this.

Luke throws his hands up, preparing himself for battle. He dons his most stubborn armour with a sheen of sarcasm. "I don't know. Your connections on Wall Street."

"We can't afford this, Luke."

 _That's a first. He called me Luke. Just Luke._ "Look, I didn't sign you up for this."

"Oh yeah? Then who?"

Luke has now moved around the massive bed and hesitates before letting himself to settle on the leather seat. Wow, he has got to get himself one of these. Except it costs more than he makes in a month. He replies, "I don't know."

It sounded dubious to his own ears, and Jess retorts immediately, "Yes, you do. Tell me."

Luke debates for a moment. Sorry, Rory. But he might as well make an exchange. "I will if you tell me something."

Jess raises his eyebrow in response. Luke leaves the leather enclave to walk to the distant wall of the room before he poses his question.

"What are your plans for when you get back to New York? You better finish school."

His nephew fires back immediately,"Why do you care?", his voice laced with hints of venom, curiosity, and boredom. A blend Luke was not entirely familiar with until Jess came into his life. It would be like changing the coffee blend served at the diner. Lorelai and the rest of its loyal consumers would have an uproar. Just like they did when Jess came into town. A new blend. A foreign mix. Someone who manages to care enough to be angry, but care so little to be disinterested by everything, seeing consequences as nothing.

"You have to finish school, Jess. You're smart. Give it 20%. Hell, 10%, and you'll graduate."

Jess's brows twitch. Luke realizes he's never told Jess directly this before. Just told him to get off his ass and go to school. Not how capable he thinks he is.

"Not your concern anymore."

Luke is the one to flinch then. Throughout the past few months, he's wanted to give up so many times, tell Liz, the town, the world that he couldn't do it. That he isn't cut out for this. But damn it, Liz made Jess his concern. A person doesn't get on a bus and suddenly disappears. Means nothing. Or at least, it shouldn't be that way.

He wanders back towards the bed. "It is. It's important to me that you finish school."

"It doesn't matter. According to multiple principals, I'm a waste of taxpayer dollars."

 _And a waste of talent_ , Luke thinks. While packing up Jess's stuff, he began cramming books into a box when one of them fell open. _Cyrano de Bergerac_. Luke isn't smart enough to understand the meanings of all of Jess's cramped notes and arrows, but he isn't stupid enough to think they're nonsense. Jess… identifies with this Cyrano idiot, empathizes with what happens to him. Of course, Luke couldn't decipher what happens from the convoluted language of the brief portion he read. Wouldn't it be nice if authors and women and his blasted nephew just say what they mean and mean what they say? Why so much complication and flowery language?

Luke squats slowly back into the welcoming cushions of the leather chair. "Well you're not a waste of my dollars. Maybe you can repay me by finishing your high school education. And if you're feeling really generous, you'll fill out a college application."

Jess stares, silent, his eyes dark and wary. Though he structures it as a question, Luke hears it as a statement. "Was it Rory."


	20. Chapter 18

Chapter XVIII

Dean isn't stupid. So he doesn't know why he's acting like such a moron. After Rory hung up on him, he considered calling her back, but found himself heading down the street to Lane Kim's home. His long legs carry him at a fast-paced walk that would easily outdo that punk's jog.

Dean isn't stupid. Jess has been into Rory since he got here a few months ago, and he knows he has a lot in common with her, all the things Dean doesn't really take interest in. But since when does 1% fluency in classic literature outweigh the sarcasm and disregard for regulation that makes up the 99%?

He sidesteps Ms. Patty, giving an excuse about what a rush he is in. He looks over to see the gazebo, site of the infamous basket contest. Where that arrogant jerk outbid him for Rory's company, food, and attention. 'Basket. Basket-maker. Guy who didn't bring enough money.' How could Rory still leave after he was insulted like that? Dean can lick his own wounds, but they went so much deeper when he had to watch her walk away. She was just rubbing in salt.

Dean isn't stupid. He can read a book. He can have a conversation about a newspaper article. He can listen to music from 20 years ago. But why would he? He's young. He can eat chips and play hockey and work at the grocery store and pass his classes with a C+. That should be enough. He doesn't have to genuinely enjoy Charles Dickens as much as basketball. He doesn't have to set up a fake crime scene and get on his knees with a piece of chalk to make his girlfriend smile. He shouldn't have to, at least.

But Dean isn't stupid. Rory likes Jess too. She has since he got in from the big city.

He stomps past Doose's, remembers the chalk outline that has since been washed away by the rain. He glares at the pole they rammed into, unharmed unlike his girlfriend. Unlike Jess too, as Rory feels the need to remind him. He wonders how long it took to get the car towed away from its embrace with the pole.

 _Why am I doing this?_ He thinks as he approaches the antique shop. Lane won't have answers for him. He has all the answers he needs. Rory is at another guy's bedside right now, as Dean is walking into her best friend's house. Why is he looking for even more confirmation of what he already knows? This must be what pure denial feels like. His own observations have surely given him enough evidence. At the diner. At the Bid-A-Basket. At the Town Meeting last night. Yet being the masochist he is, he sought confirmation in Lorelai, and her silence offered plenty. Her affirmation didn't light him on fire in a boiling fury as one would think. In fact, it was a iced depression, a chilly torment, a frost of frustration. It was the realization that he and Rory used to be active volcano that went cold. At the time, Dean thought maybe there was a way to get back to the way they were before. Dormant volcanoes don't always stay that way. An earthquake of renewed passion should do it. But the accident and all the burdens that came with it only proved to Dean that he was wishing on ashes and smoke. And she's in as much denial as he is.

"Lane!" he calls once he gets inside, and her mother quickly appears before him, snarling. "Oh, hi Mrs. Kim. Is Lane here?"

"10 minutes," she grumbles before disappearing behind stacks of tables, desks, and chairs. Lane emerges from the other side, carrying a vase in her arms.

"Dean, hey. What's up? Time's-a-ticking."

He finds himself at a loss for words. "I-I don't know. Do you know where Rory is?"

She tilts her head slightly. "Judging from your tone, you know where she is."

Dean just sighs, and Lane motions him with another tilt of her head down an aisle of furniture. As she puts the vase down, she tells him to sit in a soft recliner, popping the footrest up. Dean's feet shoot up suddenly as his torso falls backwards. Lane perches herself on a table next to him, thrusts a piece of gum into his hand.

"That's my last piece. I'm not supposed to chew gum, so appreciate it."

He nods in confusion, leans back into the recliner. One of the most comfortable chairs he's sat in, yet it fails to put him at ease. This must be where Lane goes to escape her mother and all the tension coming with it. He then says, "I'm sorry. I don't really know why I'm here."

"Yes, you do," she says. "The truth is that I don't know much. Only that Rory has been to the hospital several times since the accident. Condolences for the car, by the way."

"I don't care about the car anymore," he responds truthfully. "I'm just glad she's okay. I just… what do I do? Is it too late? She obviously likes Jess, and I've been feeling like the bad guy because I can't stand that."

Dean feels like he's in a therapy session with his reclined position and spoutings of feelings and inner thoughts. Lane answers like a counselor too, "And do you think Rory sees you that way? Rory likes you."

He'd heard that before. It was more comforting then than it is now. It was when Dean first started to suspect Rory's attraction to Jess. Dean thinks he understands - the bad boy vibe is appealing. But seeing as he has few female friends, he asked his younger sister Clara who replied that, based on her astute observation at Stars Hollow Junior High, it depends on the girl. Some girls like guys that take risks because they are too scared to take risks themselves, was the way she put it. He tried to be discreet and pretend he was asking for a friend, but Clara just smiled in her wise way and said "Rory likes you".

And Dean believes her, Clara and Lane. Rory does like him. But Dean isn't stupid. Rory does like him, but that doesn't mean she doesn't like Jess too.

He focuses on what she said first. "She definitely does. She sees Jess as the victim and me as the bad guy. And of course it's good Jess didn't get more hurt, but I'm not asking for much, you know? She's spending all her free time with him, and is it really that out of line to be upset about that? She knows I don't like her spending time with him, and when she did, he put both of them in the hospital."

As he ranted, Dean had risen up from his position, and Lane nudges him back down with a gentle touch to his shoulder. With a sigh, he begrudgingly leans back, causing a sigh to echo from the recliner. Lane plucks the piece of gum from his fist, now a crumpled foil sliver. As she tries to unwrap it, she says, "Jess is her friend. Think about it. You're friends with Lindsay Lister, right?"

"I guess…" Dean plays along.

Lane smacks on the gum. "You can say yes. It's alright to be dating someone and have friends of the opposite sex. So imagine if you and Lindsay went to get some ice cream and were in an accident. Obviously you would go see her in the hospital, right?"

Lindsay is Dean's friend, and he's told Rory that who immediately responded that Lindsay got her a Mark Twain magnet in the 4th grade. It evolved into a conversation about how long his girlfriend has been a 5th degree book nerd, and that was the end of it. But Lindsay isn't dangerous. Lindsay doesn't have feelings for Dean. She isn't trying to blindside anyone with her mysterious aura, black jeans, and city talk. She's an innocent, small-town girl who wears babydoll dresses and has nothing in common with Jess. But Dean knows his time is winding down to ask Lane's advice, so he nods. He would, after all.

"Okay. Thank you for humoring me. And if you knew Lindsay was leaving town, you'd want to spend time with her, right?"

Dean nods without hesitation this time. It isn't that bizarre, that is her point. It isn't bizarre for a friend to visit a friend in a hospital. It isn't bizarre for a friend to spend time with a friend that is leaving soon. The problem is that Jess and Rory could so easily be more than friends, and the only thing standing in their way is him. Dean pushes his hand through his hair that he forgot to comb. It resists his fingers. He'd been yanking at it while on the phone with Rory, and now it's angry at him. He thinks about how Jess's locks are fashioned a into a dark nest in which objects could probably get lost. He imagines Rory's fingers branching through the crunchy locks, sniffing the scent of the gel, her lips dangerously close to his face. Dean feels sick with jealousy. A random thought skims his brain. _Is this how Jess feels seeing Rory with me? Oh, god. I did not just think that._ He feels more nauseous than before.

Lane continues, "But this isn't just about the hospital visits."

"Answer my question," Dean whispers, trying to hold it all in. The truth is that he feels like a child with a stomachache who wants to cry. "Is it too late?"

Lane hesitates, leaves his question silently hanging. _Tell me, Lane!_ He thinks. _Is it too late to save what we have? How much is even left to save?_ After a few seconds pass, she matches his soft tone. "You're asking the wrong question to the wrong person."

"What's the right question?" he murmurs. "I don't know anything anymore."

She insists, "You know. Oh, boy. Here comes my mom."

In response to the footsteps, Dean rises from the recliner, the click of the footrest announcing Mrs. Kim's arrival around the corner. She declares, "10 minutes up. You, out. Lane has homework."

Dean nods, beginning a slow proceeding to exit, and whispers desperately behind him to Lane, "What's the right question?"

"Done!" her mother answers, putting her hand on Dean's arm with a surprisingly strong grip. She marches him towards the door, and he lacks the energy to resist much. She's a powerful lady, she is.

He looks over his shoulder at Lane, who trails behind them. Dean pleads with his eyes, feeling tears stinging at the back of them. He's felt like crying multiple times in the last few weeks, but they've never actually threatened to surface. Lane stares back in pity, mouthing silently, "You know."

* * *

Signs pass in bright green blurs with splotches of white. A blue one marks the hospital 'H', and Dean swerves to get off on the exit, earning himself a honk from the car he cut off. He clutches onto the steering wheel, his chest heaving up and down. Anxiety is flooding his system, and his body isn't prepared to handle it. Like a city facing torrential storms with infrastructure that doesn't filter out rainwater.

He turns into the hospital parking lot, finds a spot in the visitors' section. His legs carry him into the lobby. His mouth asks the receptionist for 'Jess Mariano'. His fingers open the door to the staircase. Before he even realizes it, Dean's brain finds himself in front of Jess's room, staring through the window slot of the door. The dim lighting from a television illuminates Jess and Rory inside. They're laughing at whatever is on the screen. A green cobra slithers up his spine. It's choking him. It's stealing the oxygen from his lungs and replacing it with a toxic green smoke. They are separated by the large bed, but her feet are tucked underneath the covers. Next to his. By his side.


	21. Chapter 19

Chapter XIX

"What the hell were you thinking?" Jess glares from his place in the center of the bed, though he knows the effect is lessened. He could see his reflection in the metal breakfast tray. Since he now gets silver platters and not beige cafeteria trays. He knows that he is ever-shrunken in front of the dark wooden backboard of the bed, a weak pirogue amidst a sea of sheets.

Rory stares back without a hint of surprise. She must have known how he would feel about this, but she didn't care. She was just waiting for him to realize what she'd done. She responds mechanically, and he is certain she planned it beforehand. "I was thinking that hospitals are expensive and that Luke could use some help."

"That wasn't your call," Jess asserts immediately.

She stands firm, not even putting down her bag. There isn't much time left before she has to go to school, but there is enough for both of them to say what they need to. "I would've done it with or without your permission."

Jess is not a fan of getting permission, but he wouldn't expect that from Rory. He scoffs. "You didn't even bother with Luke's permission. To hell with mine."

Rory tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and Jess reads it as a sign of her discomfort. She says quietly, "He would have said no."

The decline of her volume only leads to an increase in his. "As he should. His dignity is already in the gutter."

 _Your mother made sure of that._ Jess doesn't have any reason to insult his uncle at the moment, but he has watched him bend over backwards for months to please a woman who doesn't know he exists. Luke would balance a rod on his head with two pots of coffee in each hand if he thought it would make Lorelai smile.

Rory seems to catch on, and sighs loudly. "Why can't you just say thank you?"

Jess reverts easily into the tone he takes with everyone who tries to force him in a certain direction. In New York, arguing with Liz. Outside their apartment, ripping apart another eviction notice in front of their landlord's eyes. On the sidewalk underneath, tearing into boyfriend #all. With Luke in the diner. With principal after principal. Now he is picking up the same weapons with Rory as he does with everyone else.

"Why can't you just ask me before starting a fundraiser in my name?" He tries out.

"Why are you acting like such a child?" She shoots back.

Jess is boiling by now. Maybe it's another fever, but mostly he is just angry. He has every person in this dumb town poking their noses into his business and his health and his life just like they poke their noses into everything. He used to drive cars that weren't his in alleyways he didn't recognize, speeding dramatically, while passing around cigarettes and bottles without labels. He used to live a loud life quietly. Now he lives a quiet life loudly. Everyone seems to know everything about him even though he scarcely opens his mouth. One fight at school. One stolen bridge fund. One dumb lawn accessory. [Besides, if the old garden gnome the townspeople called Taylor, and the actual gnome Jess called "the villain from the 1982 horror film 'Gardens of Gore'", had chains and locks like everybody in New York, this wouldn't have happened.] The people of Stars Hollow know about all of it and act as though a bank were robbed. A quiet life compared to the only one he knows, yet everybody is screaming his business from the rooftops. And the person he put the most faith in, the person he confided in just a little bit, is the person shouting the loudest.

"Why are you acting like a soccer mom having a bake sale?"

"You know I can't cook!"

"Maybe if you tried reading the recipe before just going for it!" Jess's chest protests the huge inhale he took to yell that at her.

"What is wrong with you?!" She screams. That is not the first time Rory has asked him that. In fact, she exclaimed it only a couple days ago, demanding to know why he didn't get help from the paramedics at the scene of the accident. As if she doesn't know by now that he doesn't ask for help.

"A lot, okay?! In case you haven't noticed!" He gestures wildly to his damaged form.

Pain throbs above his brow, and he tries to displace it by clenching his hands into fists. He's all too aware of his injured ankle, his cracked ribs, his pounding head. He could stay like this- broken. It's all he's ever known. Rory turned people's attention to this, made them pity him for it. He hates it. He would rather them think that he is a good-for-nothing, dangerous hoodlum off the streets than someone who they should pity. Sympathy never got Jess anywhere except for unused contact cards from Child Services and silent, uncomfortable visits to the school counselor. And occasionally free weed.

Flushed in her cheeks, she exclaims, "Jesus Christ, I was trying to help you!"

He's heard this before too, and not too long ago. "Well stop trying! I never asked you or Luke or anyone in this goddamn town for help, and I don't want it!"

There is a pause before she responds again, out of ammunition. Her blue eyes are large, pleading. "Please, Jess-"

"You went behind my back, Rory. I left my home, my friends, everything to come to a place I'm not welcome in. Can't you see I have nothing left now? At least before this stupid spectacle I had my pride. Now I don't even have that." He finishes in a weak whisper, addressing himself as much as he is her. What's left? A hollow shell in a hospital bed he couldn't imagine paying for. Closing his eyes again, he leans back against his pillow, his head protesting louder with every passing moment. Despite a search for the energy to lift his arm just to pinch the bridge of his nose, his efforts are in vain.

He opens his eyes when he hears the click of the door. Rory stands in the gap of the frame, halfway in and halfway out, looking over her shoulder with sad, wide blue eyes. Jess dares her then. Without a word spoken, he dares her to walk out on him. It'd be too easy. Being halfway in is the same as being halfway out. Just do it. Walk away. It's not like he hasn't gone through it before.

And she does. She walks out and closes the door behind her, the action sealed with another click.

But in the moments just before, she murmurs with her eyes glued to his, "That's not true, Jess. You have me."

* * *

Lorelai strides into Luke's Diner and almost collides with Kirk as he runs out the door. Luke follows close behind, shouting from the frame, "And stay out this time!"

He leaves it open for her before stomping back to the counter, Lorelai trailing behind him. He slams a coffee mug down on the counter, and the handle detaches in a clean break. Not a single porcelain shard disconnected otherwise. He glares at the handle for a moment, his breathing coming out swiftly, not quite a pant. It's a refrained, quick rise and fall of his chest. His fingers hang on to the lonely handle, and Lorelai just stares at it with him.

"Jess?" she asks.

Luke's jaw shifts. "His dipshit of a father."

"He's here?" Lorelai asks, her eyebrows shooting towards her hairline. Lorelai doesn't know anything about Jess's father, only that he isn't one. That he quit a long time before Liz did.

Luke shakes his head. He grabs another coffee mug from the shelf, setting it down with too much control. "No, he called, saying he heard about the accident. Liz told him. I will never understand that sister of mine."

Though Lorelai doesn't want to pry into Jess's or Luke's personal lives, she can see that Luke is like a glass filled with too much water, about to overflow. She reaches for her own mug before he can do the same to hers. She inquires calmly as she grabs the hot cup, "Where is he?"

"Far from here, thank god. California. He had the audacity to call him his son. Jess has _never_ been his son. 6 hours does not count."

"Well technically-" Lorelai begins, but Luke's glare stops her. Instead, she goes, "And then what?"

"Nothing. He said he was in California and doing well. That he was glad Jess was okay and that I shouldn't tell him he called. One second." Luke retrieves a plate of eggs and toast from Caesar and drops it off at the table behind Lorelai. Quite a literal drop, as it makes a bang on the table. When he comes back, he says, "I don't even know why he bothered. What did he have to gain from that?"

"He got to know Jess is okay," Lorelai says. "Isn't that enough?"

Luke squeezes his white rag, but he had obviously gotten all the liquid out from previous stress twists. Not a single drop emerges. "Not for Jimmy. My sister and nephew were never enough for him."

A couple approaches the counter, both requesting coffee to go before retreating to the other end of the counter. Lorelai sets down her own half-empty cup as Luke retrieves some to-go with lids. "I'm sorry you're upset, Luke, but I don't really see the big deal. I told you before. This is about you and Jess. One phone call -"

"Exactly! This is about me." Luke interrupts, jabbing his finger at his own chest, shaking the coffee pot that is in his other hand with the force of the motion. The coffee sloshes up the sides, but does not quite make its escape. "This is about me not going back to New York after he was born. This is about me asking Jess to do things he doesn't understand because I wasn't there to teach him."

Luke is pouring the coffee so slowly with such a tight grip that the cups aren't full until he finishes speaking. Lorelai glances down the counter at the impatient couple, and Luke carries them down and checks them out. When he returns, Lorelai knows he won't catch the reference, but she sounds even more serious than she intended.

"You're not his father, Luke."

He responds immediately, "Jimmy was never there for him. I could have stepped in more, but I didn't. I could have asked Liz to send Jess here some as a kid, and maybe he wouldn't hate it here so much, but I didn't. I was scared of all that, and I was mad at Liz for leaving and getting knocked up. But I shouldn't have taken it out on her son."

 _Tale as old as time,_ Lorelai thinks. She can see herself now, balancing Rory on her hip, her other arm tossing clothes into a box. Everyone at school judging her. Her parents angry at her. Christopher in a swollen state of grief yet relief. Leaving Hartford, finding Stars Hollow. Starting over. On her own.

As Lorelai is staring down into her black abyss of coffee, Luke jolts and says, "Jeez, I'm sorry. You know I'm not-"

She cuts him off. "I know. It wasn't the same. Liz went 9 months and 6 hours thinking she wasn't doing this alone. It's not the same."

"She shouldn't have been alone. That punk Jimmy-"

"It's been 16 years, why are you thinking about all of this now? It can't change anything."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Lorelai knows she is wrong. She thinks of posing with her mother at the fashion show she held at the Inn, in those ridiculous red outfits for the Chilton Booster Club. She remembers how much effort her father put into helping Rory and her group with their project. They are overwhelming, arrogant, petty, and frustrating, but they care about Rory and being in her life. They made their entrance 16 years late, but at least they don't have any intention of walking in then going back out. She thinks about Christopher, about how he's gotten his act together, about showing up for Rory when she needed him at the ball, after the accident. It's not too late for Luke either, as long as he shows Jess he is there to stay. The problem is that Jess is much less receptive to people than Rory. But the more Lorelai hears Luke's venting on Jess's past, the more she supposes it's because people have hurt him more than they have her little girl.

Luke adjusts his hat. "Because. I realized that I care about my nephew. And I could have made things easier for him, but I didn't."

Lorelai sighs. "You were just a kid then too. Cut yourself some slack. Are you going to tell Jess he called?"

"No. He said not to, and I don't want to rub in salt."

"That's fair. Thanks for telling me all of this." Lorelai finishes off the last of the dark brown liquid in her mug. She won't pity Jess any more than she already has. Not about this uncovered sector of his past. She wouldn't want it if she were in his shoes. But she'll remember it. After 6 hours, his own father decided he wasn't good enough to be in his life. After 1, Lorelai thought he didn't belong in hers. But Luke nor Rory ever made that call. So she will remember it, the next time she decides he isn't good enough to be in theirs.

"Why? The kid would kill me if he knew I was spouting his life story." Seeming to realize it himself only as the words are said, Luke rubs a hand over his face and across his tired eyes.

Lorelai smiles. "No, not that. I'm not about to call for a sharing circle. I'm just glad that I can be a person that you trust."

"Yeah, well, I do. Trust you, I mean. I can't believe anyone else has good intentions right now."

Lorelai pushes her cup forward for a refill. "Do you want to make a trade?"

"Coffee in exchange for what?" Luke asks, not making a move to grab the pot.

"I will tear Taylor's list in his face if you give me a stamp. And also coffee."

Luke is already reaching for the pot. He's given up completely on convincing her to abandon her ways, it seems. "You don't have a stamp? What are you mailing?"

Lorelai watches the coffee fill the cup to the brim, at Luke's usual pace. "An invitation to something."

"Yeah, I should have one near the register. Party?" He asks over his shoulder as he replaces the pot and looks for a new rag.

"Uh, graduation ceremony. Mine."

Luke turns and blinks, and with a delayed reaction, covers, "Right. Congratulations. I'm sorry, it slipped my mind."

With all Luke has been handling lately, Lorelai is surprised his brain hasn't turned into an icy slope. And only the things with spikes and hooks, the things that hurt, have been hanging on.

"Yeah, no big deal," she says, even though this is one of the hugest things that has happened to her in a long time. It makes her more into the model she wants to be for her daughter. "Um… would you like to come?"

Lorelai reaches into her purse, her fingers nervously fluttering around in its contents. The words were unexpected, and her hands were searching before her brain realized that she'd said them. It isn't that she doesn't want Luke there, of course, but a mere few days ago, they'd been yelling at each other in the street. Or rather, she was attacking him, and he was defending himself. And now she's inviting him to her graduation. Though honestly, if she's comfortable with inviting Christopher- who's flaked on her several times, she can admit- why shouldn't she ask Luke, who refuses to let down the people he cares about? As she slides the invitation across the counter to him, she's reminded of how she slid Rory's $500 across to him two days ago. He picks it up, reads over the letters inscribed in simple green font. Lorelai watches as a genuine smile emerges, closed-lipped yet genuine. Not a hint of joking or sarcasm. He's proud of her. And just knowing that, Lorelai feels… clarity. It's like she had this mist in her brain, a fog blurring her vision. But Lorelai sees Luke's smile, and even though she can't distinguish her thoughts from her emotions, everything makes sense.


	22. Chapter 20

Chapter XX

After chugging a cup of hospital waiting room coffee that was burnt to a crisp, Rory retreated to the restroom, thankfully empty. This resulted in several minutes of aggressive confrontation with herself in the mirror. She saw it. It was all over his face. She could just walk away. Let him leave Stars Hollow for good. Do the one thing that everyone has been telling her to do, that has been so frustratingly impossible. Forget him.

He will leave in a mere three days. She never has to see him again. She can push aside all the stress of having him in her life, all the questions she's asked herself because of him. She can have a relationship with Dean that isn't plagued by his jealousy and doubt. She can focus on Chilton and Harvard, on Lane and Lorelai. She won't be laying in her bed staring at the ceiling replaying their conversations, or sitting on the couch rereading the annotations he wrote in _Howl_. Her thoughts are swirling around her head uncontrollably, a nauseous swarm of assertions she's suppressed until now with relative success. And it could all go away with a simple act.

"Forget about Jess," she whispers to herself.

But... she can't. She's tried. Well, it felt like trying, but how much effort can she put into something her body seems determined against? It's like smiling while stuffing down an unenjoyable food. Not easily done. It's like he got into her head. But how? He's not like Dean. He doesn't court her or flatter her or tell her secrets. He doesn't ask permission or listen to instructions. It's like her entire world has moved at one speed her entire life; she was the fastest thing there. But then he comes dropping in to the scene without realizing his feet are supposed to touch the ground.

"I won't," she says. Maybe before the accident, she could have. Before he ended up in the hospital, maybe she could have let him leave and pretended he didn't exist. Before she started to see him as he is, maybe she could've erased his image from her mind's eye. But now he is revealing himself to her, his personality showing raw under his physical damages. She sees someone familiar with loss, and she won't have him lose her too.

* * *

Rory gives a quick tap on the door before taking delicate steps inside the room. She's decided she was ready to try her luck with defusing the bomb she had activated a quarter hour ago. School starts soon, and she would not be distracted for the rest of the day without attempting to bridge the gap she created.

Stepping on white tiles of ice, she can nearly hear the sound of cracks underneath the weight of her approach. Jess doesn't budge. He seems to be shrinking before her eyes, ever weaker. His eyes are half-closed, cupped by purple crescents underneath. She allows her gaze to float to his chiseled jaw then to his hands, both tightly clenched in pain. He doesn't even blink as she comes to stand beside him. Perhaps too angry or perhaps too tired to look at her.

She glides her thumbs over the Walkman in her hands before setting it to track number three, _The Sound of Silence_ by Simon  & Garfunkel. It'd be unacceptable to choose anything else. After all, she understands now, it's the sound of silence that keeps him awake no matter how truly exhausted he is. She turns the volume low so as not to perturb the headache that is surely wracking inside of him. Sometimes when something is pounding against the walls of the skull, a little more noise is what one needs, as contradictory as that seems. He flinches slightly at her touch as she slides the headphones over his ears, fingertips brushing carefully over his jawline and sideburns. Within moments, she sees a change in him as Simon works his magic, as Garfunkel takes his turn. His top and bottom rows of teeth which had been clenched in a stubborn embrace now release each other from grip, and his face softens as a result. His head sinks back further into the pillow, his neck no longer taking on the façade of a tree trunk. Rory watches as he lets his eyes close completely, his hands slightly release. She reaches out with her right one to pry his left open entirely. He resists her only slightly, but soon allows her hands under his. She can feel the semicircle indents from his nails in the skin of his palm as she lifts it just enough to slip the player underneath. She places his fingers over the buttons with utmost caution, supporting each one from below with her own.

She doesn't know why, but she lets her hand rest there under his, her fingertips idling under his palm. It is cold, but not clammy or sweaty. A dry ice. It's not cracking beneath her at all anymore. Minutes pass, her companion growing more relaxed with each one. His breathing evens out, a steady lolling, gliding up and down the melodic dunes of the music playing softly in his ears. Whether he can hear her or not, she is more concerned of whether he would decide to listen. He could easily choose the voices of Simon & Garfunkel over hers. However, she murmurs with their hands still joined, "I'm sorry. I wanted to help you. It was the only way I knew how. I hope that we are still okay. … Please sleep now. You have to rest so that…"

 _So that there's still time. Before we have to say goodbye._

She finishes pathetically, "So that you can get out of here."

She starts to pull away, but the tiny movement of his thumb against hers is enough to freeze her in place. His eyes remain closed. His torso remains relaxed. Yet there is a firmness in his voice that Rory wouldn't expect.

"We're okay."

* * *

"We're not okay."

Jess still hadn't recovered from someone coming through his door who isn't the nurse, Rory, or Luke. He had been peacefully staring at the ceiling with his ice pack on his chest, listening to _Fields of Gold_ , thinking about the complexities of getting on the subway with crutches. His roommate-for-a-day barged in without warning, greeted him abruptly, remarked on the quality of his new room, and proceeded to announce more of his relationship issues. Jess is now watching Romeo pace back and forth in front of his bed, his IV stand hindering his stride.

Romeo - or whatever his name is - says, "I'm talking about Jacob, by the way."

Jess recognizes the name, and he asks skeptically, "Did you mail the letter?"

"No, and I should've. But I decided I didn't want to wait so I called him." _Strike One._ He walks back and forth muttering further nonsense. Jess follows him with his eyes, like watching a very slow ping pong match.

"Stop!" Jess says, and Romeo pauses his pacing and jabbering. "What happened?"

Romeo's knuckles are white, clutched around the metal rod of the IV stand. "I called his house, and his mother picked up. She thinks we're just friends, so Jake had to talk about chemistry until she left. I actually needed a review on bonds, but the point is that I should've paged him, but I didn't."

 _Strike Two,_ Jess counts. He raises an eyebrow in response, waiting for Romeo to continue. Romeo responds to his expression with a defensive explanation. "I told him what I put in the letter! . . . but in a much rougher way."

"You mean what _I_ put in the letter," he reminds. "You were on page 4 of a romance novel before I stopped you."

Romeo rolls his eyes. "Don't you think throwing the whole thing away was a little unnecessary?" When Jess just stares coldly in response, he relents, "Fine, it wasn't great. But… where do I go from here? I already told him how I feel. It seems like all my cards are played."

Jess sighs. _Strike Three. Out._

"Did you say what I told you? About understanding the position you are putting him in?" He doesn't even know what he is saying. He doesn't try to fix things. He doesn't give advice. He receives it, swiftly ignores it, and proceeds to do whatever the hell he wants. He doesn't do this.

His uninvited companion nods furiously in response. "I did, I did. But he was so _angry_. I felt like I wasn't asking that much, you know? But he was acting as though I was attacking him. Viciously."

"He's in denial," Jess suggests quietly. People are much better with denial than honesty. Chills run through his torso, emanating from the ice pack on his chest. A wave of nausea spills over. Maybe he should ask his ex-roommate to leave. The kid is so infernally desperate, though. Jess shakes his head, trying to force his symptoms away.

Romeo is oblivious to the pained expression on Jess's face. "Definitely. He told me he's attracted to me too. He told me that he wants to be with me too. We've established that. But he won't break up with his girlfriend. Claims they're happy. It's like he's using her just to prove to everyone he doesn't like guys, as if people even suspect. You know what I mean right? Like what do you think? Do I even have a shot here?"

 _Why me?_ Jess thinks to himself as he is berated with questions, contradicting the thought he'd had a mere 10 seconds ago. He doesn't get involved with other people's business. Romeo doesn't see his eyes roll up as he leans further back on his pillows, and doesn't wait for a response to keep rambling. He resumes his pacing, the wheels of the IV stand making agitating squeak noises on the floor.

"I'm not asking him to come out of the closet. I'm not asking him to be with me in that way." He repeats, "I'm not asking much. If he cares about me like he says he does, then why is he with her? He isn't being fair to me, her, or himself. You know?"

Jess knows too well actually. He nods along, trying to turn himself numb before Romeo's words hit too close to home.

"And I tried to tell him that it's just because I care. I just like him so much that it's driving me insane seeing him stick with someone else just because it's safer. But he said his hands are tied. He's a basketball player. She's a cheerleader. He's a big bulky black guy. She's a pretty blonde girl with a waist the size of a toothpick. How do I compete with that?"

Romeo is staring down at his own body with such a strong dissatisfaction that Jess has to look away. Slim. White. Pale. He finally pieces it together. He states, "That's why you're here."

Silence fills the room, until Romeo's sniffles begin to echo around it.

"It isn't about being cool. It isn't about kids not picking on me anymore. I just thought… I don't know. I thought that if I could look like them, if I could bulk up, he would see me as someone he could be with. Not some useless piece of white trash he'd have to protect all the time." Jess is quiet, simply watches as Romeo swipes away a couple rogue tears. As he tugs lightly on the IV, he continues, "I passed out a couple days ago on the track. Honestly, the food here is better than the protein shakes I was forcing down."

Jess orders, "Sit."

He stalks to the leather chair with his metal companion, slowly squats to rest on its edge. He plucks a tissue from the box on the side table. Jess turns his neck to glare at him. He's been wanting to say his next words since he met Romeo.

"You're being a moron."

Romeo lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. He brushes away another stray tear. "I know. I know I am."

"But," Jess's voice softens, "don't give up yet."

Romeo fits his hand around his wrist, watching his thumb and middle finger easily connect around it. "And why the hell not? I've fucked this up to the point of no return."

"No, _I_ have fucked up to the point of no return. _You_ still have time."

Romeo looks up. "You mean you have someone? I mean, of course you do, but I just didn't know. Who are they? What happened?"

Jess smirks with an amused scoff. "I'm not telling you a thing. But the point is you can fix this."

"Thanks, um… what's your name again?" Romeo's cheeks flush as he labors to recall it through their extensive, mostly one-sided conversations. "Sorry, I can't even remember you telling me."

Jess smirks. It's because he didn't. "Get my wheelchair from the closet. We're going on a trip."


End file.
